Book 3: ShadowLight
by Tesst
Summary: Galbatorix sits on the throne, wearing the skin of The Mist. Ten years it has been since Rathon succumb to the evil. Since then he has been able to evade his pursuers, with the aid of his loyal servant. But when Galbatorix finally catches up with Rathon, the true Wieldier of ShadowLight sets forth to find those who abandoned him. Final installment of the Great Spells Trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

**M'kay, so kicking off ShadowLight with the same thing as usual: a prologue. **

* * *

Evil spread from one corner of Alagaesia to the other. Terror reigned. Galbatorix ruled the entire land with unchallenged might. The humans that had not answered Eragon's call attempted to start another Varden. Within twenty four hours, however, Galbatorix had crushed them like insects. This was not like the last time Galbatorix had ruled, for now he had no fear to fly out of his citadel to prove his control. And with Echothain at his side, he was unstoppable.

Many had not escaped from Galbatorix when the coalition of races had escaped with Eragon leading them. Some had been captured in the days before Galbatorix's insurrection. Many had refused to leave the land of their fathers behind. And still others had believed that Galbatorix was gone forever, and that Eragon's call was nothing more than a practical joke. They all bent a knee to him now, more for terror than for reverence. He slew without discretion, any whom he deemed worthy of lacking a head lost it in a moment. The number of those loyal to him grew by the day. By what malicious magic, no one knew. But day by day, captives that once spat at the ground at Galbatorix's feet became obedient to his order.

Rathon and Malizar had taken advantage of everything they could. They had built a small hiding place near the base of the far western edge of the Beor Mountains, reasoning that that was the place Galbatorix had given the least attention. For a long while, they did not even go outside that small hut, trusting Leonis to hunt in the mountains and bring them food. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally ventured outside and after even longer they dared go into the nearby cities. What they found had not been as bad as Rathon had expected. There were a good many of Galbatorix's mind slaves about, but other than that the city seemed untouched and unaware of Rathon's existence.

That was, of course, before he saw the sign.

Stamped upon every board and wall in the city was a portrait of him, as well as an official decree stating, "If any are found to be surmised to aid in the efforts of this fugitive, they shall not perish. Rather, they shall be made to watch as every one of their family members, friends, and everything they had every put a finger on is brought down to death."

Rathon had ducked his head under his hood and quickly made his way out of the city, where he had turned back to look at the race of man. Malizar had stopped beside and urged him on, saying that they had to return as quickly as possible, lest someone recognize him.

* * *

Ten years passed. Rathon never left the area around the hut, expect for periodic flights with Leonis. He avoided all human contact expect for Malizar, not for fear of being noticed, but fear of the consequences of anyone who helped him. He knew Galbatorix would not be fair in his judgment if someone had aided him. If he even had a suspicion of that, if he even wanted to have a suspicion, they would be gone within the hour. He wished that on no one and so he removed himself entirely. Malizar made frequent trips into the city, to buy supplies that they needed. Even with these precautions, they had to be nimble, for Galbatorix's mind slaves were everywhere, watching and scanning for any sign of him.

* * *

Rathon sat, leaning against a smooth bolder that was the hidden entrance to their home. He tossed a fruit up and down, starring down at the city. An ache, a resonating pang went through him, as it did most days. He longed for the way of life he had once had, the way it had all been before. This time eleven years ago, he would have been sipping on ale and going over documents with Naydel of how much that very city was to be taxed for its yearly revenue.

The sound of rock grinding against dirt alerted him to Malizar pushing the boulder he was leaning against out of the way with magic. He pushed himself up and made room for his only human companion.

The rider stepped out and brushed the dust off his legs. He was dressed in the most unnoticeable and unremarkable clothing they could find, so as to draw as little attention as possible. A leather bag was strapped around his right shoulder and was slung by his left side. "I'm going into the city. We have only enough food for another three days, at best. If Galbatorix sends extra troops to find you, and we're forced into hiding, I don't feel like starving."

"How much money do you have?"

Malizar opened his bag and looked into it for a moment. "Precious few. I'll look for another job while I'm in there."

"Tread lightly," he said.

"As always," Malizar responded.

* * *

Rathon woke some time later. The presence of Leonis' mind had raised him from his nap. The crimson dragon landed almost a mile away, using the cover of the mountains to hide himself and then walked to the hideout. He had a nest in one of the tallest peaks, far out of view of anyone on the ground. He looked up and saw his dragon's head resting on the rock above him, his eyes closed, the warm breath from his nostrils warming him. He sighed and looked back down, towards the city. Lights flickered in the town, shuttered candles and lanterns set outside the front porch of a house to help someone find it in the darkness.

"Lovely, is it not?" Rathon's heart leapt into his throat with panic. He jumped to the side, reaching for his sword. He unsheathed and turned back to the voice, ready to defend himself. Stories of what Galbatorix did to captives were many and gruesome and he had no intention of becoming another one.

"Show yourself!" he called. His heart felt like it was beating a thousand times a minute.

"I'm behind you," came the voice. Rathon spun around, sword buzzing through the air. It was stopped dead in its tracks, with the metallic twang of sword against sword. "Hello to you as well, old friend," came the voice once more. Then it clicked in Rathon's mind.

"Calibor," he said, relieved. The darkness before grew brighter and he saw the man. He was dressed in snow white clothing, his eyes as silver as the moon. The blade he held was black as pitch but white as frosting. On an impulse, Rathon reached out and touched the blade. But it was not what he had thought.

"No, child. This is not ShadowLight. Merely a blade I made to replicate it," Calibor said.

His heart calming, Rathon took a deep breath. Then he returned his gaze to Calibor and with his tone guarded he said, "Why have you left me to myself? I've had good need of you in the past decade."

Calibor looked back at the boulder. "Really? I would say Malizar is making use of himself to a sufficient degree to allow for my absence."

"ShadowLight was stolen by Galbatorix," he said, his voice growing harsher.

"And who allowed for that chain of events?"

Rathon was ready to make a retort, but he stopped himself and cast his gaze downward. "I have suffered for what I did, Calibor. Everything I once held dear has been taken away from me."

"Rathon," Calibor said, his tone gentle but firm. "Noble intentions or not, you are the engineer of your life at the present, not Galbatorix. The finger of blame can be pointed nowhere but inward."

Rathon swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Please, Calibor. I have suffered my punishment and even now I stand in exile. May we ignore the past for now?"

The left side of Calibor's mouth twitched up in a smile. "The past must never be ignored, Rathon, for by it the future comes to fruition."

"Is there hope for me, Calibor? Is there even an inkling of hope that I will not someday die at the hands of Galbatorix?"

A sudden flash of light caught Rathon's attention. He looked down and his breath was caught. In a field directly adjacent to the village a circle of earth thirty yards wide had been burst into flames. In the center of the circle, lay Malizar, his cloths torn and bloody. He looked back at Calibor, but saw nothing.

_Go, _came the silent whisper.

Leonis rose and said, _What was that?"_

_Hide yourself, _Rathon said. _Quickly! _Leonis stretched his wings and took to the skies. Rathon ran down the hill and over the maze of rocks that separate him and the city. A half mile separated him. By the time he reached Malizar, he feared the man would be dead. But when he approached he saw that his companion was still breathing. Dried blood covered his arms and face. Numerous cuts ran his entire body. A single gash, that looked fresh, pooled blood from his abdomen. He went down on his knees and said, "Malizar."

Malizar opened his eyes and reached up to him. "My King," he said. He sounded delusional.

"We have to get you out of here, now."

"No, no, my King. This was bound to happen sooner or later. I am only glad that it was sooner." Rathon took a shaking breath and then began to weep uncontrollably. He wept for everything he had done. He wept for everything that happened because of him. He wept for the simple fact that he was doomed. Finally he said, "What am I to do, Malizar?"

"Go," the man whispered. "Go and beg forgiveness from the ones you have wronged. Return to them. Redemption is not as far as you think." Then Malizar's arm fell and he breathed his last breath. Rathon stood and looked down at the body of his only human friend.

"_Leonis!" _he called, with his voice and mind, amplifying it with his energy so it reverberated through the air. _"Come."_

* * *

_I don't like short chapters, per say. But that's what a Prologue is. Short. _


	2. Reunion with the Beloved

**Funnelwebs: Yeah; I'm sad that it's coming to an end too. At the same time I'm happy because this is more or less my personal redemption from the absolute hack jobs the last stories were. As for my intent after the trilogy ends; I don't really know. I might make something new, but just as likely I may end my days on FanFiction for good. Because, to do a story well takes a couple of years and I'm not sure I'm ready to invest that a third time. We shall have to see. **

**Elemental Dragon Slayer: :) I assure you, he will; although hopefully not in the manner you expect. **

**Blackwind2254: Well, here you go. A nice heaping pile of relatively short chapter. As for your last sentence: hooray for overlapping redundancies! :)**

* * *

Rathon was tired; so very tired. He had lost track of how many days he and Leonis had flown across the waters. The last count Rathon had on the days was thirty four and then they all blended together without meaning or purpose. When Leonis lost the power to fly, he swam atop the waters and allowed his wings to rest. Rathon would fish while he did this, using energy manipulation to summon, kill and retrieve his prey. They would go until they found some outcropping of rock big enough to accommodate Leonis, and then they would sleep.

Rathon gradually came to think that they had missed Alalea all together and that they were doomed to fly until the world dropped away and they floated among the abyss that the spirits inhabited. He began to see things that logically could not have been there. At least four times he thought they had bumped into a ship on the waters; three of those times they had been flying. He would periodically look down and see human fish creatures swimming below, only for them to disappear the next moment. The visions of dragons around them were an oft repeated one. He could not even fathom a guess as to how many times he thought he saw Katelyn.

* * *

Rathon lay on Leonis' back as he drifted through the water. The midday sun beat down upon him. His skin felt like he was sitting in a sword crafter's smelting pot. Leonis swam only lightly, for his muscles ached from weeks of flying with only little rest.

_Are we to die here, Rathon?_

_Your guess is as good as mine, friend, _he replied. "Was this your plan all along, Calibor? To have me leave the only place I've ever called home in favor of the open sea, to die? I will always be on your side, you once said. What kind of friend sends his fellow out to suffer and die in the boundless sea?"

There was no reply.

Rathon gave up. He was going to perish and there was nothing he could do about it. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him, the last sound of his life. He listened to the water rushing up against Leonis' side. He listened to seagulls in the skies cry. He listened to the… Rathon's eyes snapped open and he pushed himself up. _Birds, _he thought. _How are there birds? We're in the middle of the… _He stood up and gapped at what he saw. His heart sank to his knees and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Maybe a mile away was land. Green mountains stretched off past a small beach, mist clinging to their highest points. Animals roomed over the surface, birds flew in the air and he could the life force of sentient beings.

"Leonis!" he called.

His dragon opened his eyes and on seeing what his rider saw heaved his bulk out of the waters and took to the air. They flew up sharply, higher than the clouds and then dove for the land of Alalea, their journey over. Leonis crashed down to the earth and moaned in relief as he felt his limbs finally and completely relax.

Rathon leapt off his dragon and looked around, expecting to see people. But no one was there. Leonis picked himself up and crawled to Rathon. _Leonis, _Rathon said, _I dislike asking you, but would fly around the skies and see what you can see? I sense people, but I can't sense who they are, and I ill like the concept of being taken by surprise._

_I don't mind flying as long as I know ground is below me, _Leonis replied. He took two running jumps and then took flight, buzzing off to the west.

Rathon sat down and sighed with relief. He had made it to Alalea. He was free from Galbatorix. Then his heart began to sink as he contemplated facing his brother and everyone from his old life. How he had wronged them.

A stick snapped in the jungles behind him. He stood and held out both hands, ready to use his energy to defend himself. Nothing moved. He had begun to think it had been an animal when he felt a surge of energy racing towards him. He barely had enough to time to make a wall with his own to stop it. Men ran out of the forest, shouting at each other in a foreign language. They each held a rod of iridescent blue.

Rathon did not think. He sent focused beams of energy at the men, either knocking them unconscious or immobilizing them. _Leonis, _he called.

_On my way._

Then one of the men shouted a long word over the others. The men stopped. As one they raised their rods and struck the ground with them. Rathon blanched as a force of energy stronger than anything he had felt before pushed down on him. He turned his entire attention on it, trying to divert or abate it, but to no avail. It was like a bolder was being dropped on him. He heard someone say in his tongue, "Finish him."

His mind snapped. _I will not die after escaping the ocean! _He tapped into a reserve of knowledge and opened his palms outward. Wind burst out in every direction, with him as its center. A dark blue light erupted from his core. Gritting his teeth with effort and concentration, he weaved the energy in his body out the tips of his fingers and toes, his arms and legs, his head, his stomach and his chest, keeping the force, quantity and rate that expanded them perfectly proportionally between those sources. A dome of dark blue energy formed around him, stretching up and out until it reached five yards. As it touched any object, but for the ground at his feet, the object was ripped apart. Rocks were ground into sand; insects wiped from existence. Gasps came from around him and the weight lessened. With that, he shoved it aside and stood, the energy still flowing around him. He examined the men around him. They knew of what he was doing, somehow. Then he took a strong stance and extended his arms outward, his eyes closed for concentration. And there he held the pulse, confident that he could wait the men out until Leonis arrived.

_That should keep them at bay until Leonis gets here and then woe to them._

A small figure detached itself from the forest. With his energy out on such full display he felt every distortion of the air around him. He opened his eyes and looked to it; for it felt far different than any of the men. It was a woman who looked in the prime of her youth. She walked with a wooden staff that adorned a sapphire tip. Her face was decorated with jewels and gems that were tied to strings of gold. Her eyes were as silvery white as the clouds that floated above. All of the men knelt to her. She ignored them and strode towards Rathon. She stopped at the edge of the barrier.

"Try it," he said in a daring voice. "Your body will rip to shreds the moment you touch it."

She looked at him with eyes that comprehended, yet would not respond. She raised her hand and walked through the dome. His heart skipped a beat. _That's not possible, _he thought. No one could touch a pulse, not even the person who had activated it. She strode towards him. He couldn't move; he felt paralyzed by her eyes. She stopped in front of him and spoke in a language that was foreign to him but he understood every word. "You have abused this art, Rathon. Yet your prowess with it allows for it. I have never seen such a thing." She reached forward and placed the tip of her staff on his forehead. "Until such time as I ordain that you pose no threat, I revoke your power." The dome collapsed. Not withdrew to him, as it should have. It simply collapsed.

* * *

Rathon woke in a dark room. A single torch was lit in the far corner. At the table beside it sat the woman. He jerked up and fumbled for the knife on his leg. To his amazement, it was still there.

"Be at peace," she said. "I mean you no harm."

He glared at her. "Your men attacked me, unprovoked. If their intent was good they did a poor job in showing it!"

"You were different than those who came before you," she said. "The others that flew on the backs of dragons were weaker. They did not expect you."

"And so they seek to crush me?" he said, drawing the knife and standing, raising it at her.

"You possess a power that you should not. When you used it, they decided not to kill you. Rather, they sought to incapacitate you for fear of their own safety."

He glared down at her. "Defending yourself by attacking your enemy is not a decision made by soldiers, but a command made by a clear headed leader."

She raised an eyebrow. "You sound more like Zodion than either Aesire or Eragon." His fortitude faltered at the mention of his father and master. "But as the fact remains, you are incorrect. That choice was not an order. You have the power to change the world around you with the energy of your limbs, something that was not passed down to the fathers of Alagaesia. They were given Magic, but of that you have none. How then, do you possess it?"

_She's talking about my energy manipulation, _he realized. "It was just something I was born with," he said.

She shook her head. "A deformity, a talent for the sword, an unnatural temper. These are things that you are simply born with. But the power of Mana is a gift, given to but few and you not among that number. You are either given it, or born from a line that has it."

"Then perhaps he was," said a clear voice from outside.

The woman scowled at the flap of cloth that served as a door. "I don't care who you are; I was very clear when I said to leave me be. Malik, explain yourself."

A long pause followed. Then another man said, "Well…ma'am….I thought you would want me to let him pass."

The woman's eyes darkened. "Was I not clear enough in my instructions? Who breaches my orders with such obstinate over confidence to think he can demand an audience when I have specifically ordered to be left alone?"

Another long silence came. The woman stood and strode towards the door. Just before she touched the fabric, a man said, "It's the Black Dragon, ma'am."

The woman froze, her eyes struck with shock. She stood there for a moment, still as a statue. Then she took a step back and in a voice that belied doubt, she said, "Grant him entrance."

The door flap was pushed aside and Calibor, dressed in a flowing white robe walked in. The light from outside made him shine like the sun until the flap was released. Calibor's eyes, white as snow went around the room. His hair was cut and fresh, his clothes shining with their cleanliness. His sword was slung on his back. His eyes rested on the woman and he smiled.

They looked at each other for almost a minute, Calibor with eyes of affection, the woman with eyes of astonishment. At last Calibor raised his arms out and said, "Are you not going to welcome me?"

The woman let loose a cry of joy and leapt into Calibor's arms, forsaking her staff. Tears flowed from her eyes as she hugged him fiercely. She cried out of what seemed to be happiness, for she smiled and laughed the whole while. Calibor ran his hand down her hair as she cried against his shoulders. For a brief moment Calibor looked up at Rathon and he mouthed the words, "Well done."

Finally, as her tears began to lessen Calibor took the woman's face from his shoulder and they looked into each other's eyes. And Rathon thought that, not even between his parents or Aesire and Hola, had he ever seen such a genuine expression of love. The woman placed a hand on Calibor's right check.

"My eyes see you," she said. "But I can hardly believe you stand before me."

Calibor took her hand and kissed the palm. "Whether I stand here today or in different world a thousand years ago, I shall always be at your side, Kaealla."

Kaealla, as apparently was her name, took her hand and stood up on her toes and kissed Calibor. She returned to her feet after a moment and said, "How long has it been?"

"A minute? An hour? Five thousand, four hundred, thirty three years, seven months and eleven days. Who knows?" She smiled and turned to Rathon as Calibor did.

"Rathon," he said. "Please, lower your weapon. You stand among friends." Rathon lowered his knife. Calibor raised a hand to Kaealla. "May I introduce to you Kaealla De'Suitevar Kasteliia? She is the leader of the men who attacked you."

Kaealla dipped into a curtsey. She raised a hand out to him. "Please forgive me. I was not aware that you were with Kayalder." She closed her eyes. "I return to you your powers." Rathon tightened his grip as he felt energy rush through him. He looked down at the bed he had been in and flicked a finger. The cloth blanket shifted.

"Thank you," he said, dipping into a bow.

Calibor looked down at Kaealla. "Do you have more questions for him, or is he free to leave? I suspect he wishes to return to his old family and friends."

"I had a few more questions, if we would be willing to stay and answer them. However, if you protect him under your wing, he is free to come and go as he sees fit."

They both looked at Rathon. Despite himself, he was curious as well and he felt much more secure with his power restored. He waved a hand and sat on the bed. "Ask your questions," he said. "I've waited ten years. I can wait a few more minutes."

"Thank you," she said, dipping into another curtsey.

"But if I may," he said. "I have a question I would enjoy an answer to first."

"Of course," she replied.

"How is it you were able to steal away my power and return it at your discretion?"

Calibor cast a cautionary glance at him before looking down to Kaealla. "It's fine," she said. "It's an apt and understandable question."

"Are you sure? I know how it hurts you, no matter how much you try and hide it."

"More than sure," she said. "It's necessary that he know."

"At your hand let it be done, that my hands might be clean of it," Calibor said and returned his gaze to Rathon.

Kaealla came and stood beside the bed. "Before I answer this question of yours, Rathon, you must know this. What I tell you will inevitably raise question and I will happily answer them. But after this answer you must answer my questions first. Do you accept?"

He dipped his head. "I do."

Kaealla nodded and took a breath, as though she were preparing to dive into a cold lake. "My power, or rather my ability, to take away what you call your energy manipulation stems from the fact that I was the one who created it; created the entire art that is Mana: energy manipulation. Furthermore, it is pertinent that you know it was by my hand Magic entered the world as well."

* * *

**So, another short chapter, huh? Well, in my defense this was sort of the ground work for next chapter; wherein I plan on dropping an atomic bomb (or probably several) of a surprise that's been in the pipes for a couple of months. **

**In the words of our most, beloved, honorable and successful President Barack Hussein Obama: Look and let me be clear….**

**I didn't actually have a follow up on that one; I just wanted to bring up the fact that he probably uses that phrase more than I use the word spirits. And to all those who are wondering; yeah, four years ago if I had had the power to vote I probably would have voted for Obama. This time around, when I actually have that ability…gonna cast my vote a little more responsibly. **


	3. Of Answers and Origins

**Elemental Dragon Slayer: Not only introduced, but created; and that is explained with a bit more depth in this chapter.**

**Blackwind2254: Well, your opinion of elections differ from mine; but that's a moot and needlessly pointless argument. As for Eragon, (who I assume you meant Arya) and all the others; their coming, just give some time. Gotta cover some bases first.**

**And now, hence forth into the chapter that adds the most stuff to the plot line of this story that differs from the actual context of the Inheritance Cycle since Hola was introduced. So yeah; have a fun time with that.**

* * *

Rathon's initial reaction was humored contempt. How could something like magic have an inventor? Then he thought back to the battle before, how she had walked through his pulse, how she had stolen his power and how, when deactivated, the pulse collapsed.

With an ordinary pulse, simply disbanding the energy was needlessly reckless, since it was sent out the seven points they depended on the base for expansion, and it went both ways. The energy relied on the points and the points relied on the energy. Because of that, if Rathon simply let go of the energy, rather than draw it back to him, any number of the seven might cease working, for a short while or forever. It was strange, then, that the pulse had collapsed and yet he had full control of all of his various functions. He could not explain that, and he doubted even a master of the art like Zodion could. This state of thinking gradually changed Rathon's reaction from contempt, to amazement.

If she was the creator, it stood to reason that she was the master of it. And that would go a long way towards explaining how she had taken his manipulation away from him, something that simply should not have been possible. But, for there to be a master of magic…he could not even begin to imagine the implications.

Rathon splayed his fingers together. "Is this true, Calibor?"

"Every word," he replied.

"Then let me hear your questions, , so that I might ask mine." He looked to Kaealla.

Kaealla looked to Calibor for a moment and mouthed, "Calibor?" Then she returned her gaze to Rathon, and her voice was serious. "What you call energy manipulation is the twin of magic, which I named mana. It is the power of your very spirit to change the world around you, in much less direct way than with magic. But," she said, crossing a leg over the other as she sat, "both mana and magic were a gift, given by me to different people. Those people passed them down to their descendants. Through the course of the ages, those people have come together and mingled their power, passing it to their offspring, by mixing them. Magic mixed with mana, is what I mean. Even still, pure breed magicians and pure breed manaians exist. The only way to truly tell them apart is their proficiency, and their ability to use certain powers. The pure born magicians, elves. Not a single elf is born without magic in their veins. Pure born manaians, are those who you name the Grey Folk."

Everything clicked in Rathon's mind. The Grey Folk, those who had harnessed the Ancient Language millenniums ago. He looked over at Calibor. "You are of the Grey Folk, aren't you?"

Calibor grinned. "One of the first. There were my parents, and they were possibly the first beings to walk the earth. And then they had me and Echothain. This was some seven millennium ago, as I recall. Come now, Rathon," he said at Rathon's expression. "Did you really believe, given all the clues and contexts, that I was a human or elf? I certainly am not Dwarf, Urgal, or Werecat."

"I always thought you were different," he said. "I didn't really give it much thought as to what you were, though."

Calibor rolled up his sleeve, to bare the black dragon tattoo, and his grin grew ever wider. "The Dwarfs have another name for Echothain and me. Do you know what it is?" Rathon shook his head. Calibor pushed his sleeves down and said, "Urur and Morgothal; the dwarfen Gods responsible for the creation of Dragons." Rathon's jaw went slack and stared in open mouthed astonishment at Calibor. "And that," Calibor said, "is why I am the Lord of Dragons. I'm amazed you haven't pieced that together for yourself."

"What, that you're a God?" Rathon said in an incredulous voice. "No,you could say that I didn't put that particular puzzle together."

"Not a God," Calibor said, raising a finger. "But only an image of one. This," he said, extending a hand out to Kaealla. "Is the dwarf goddess Sindri, maker of man."

Rathon looked up to Kaealla, his maker. "You are the creator of humankind?"

"Aye," was her simple reply.

"My father, Del Narzvin is the God Guntera, creator of elves. And my mother, Kilf."

Rathon put a hand on his head, his mind spinning. He was sitting in the same room as the makers of two races of the world. Then something picked at his mind. "What about Helzvog?"

Calibor's eyes grew distant and he sighed. "That, Rathon, I don't know. We may never know who crafted the dwarves and the urgals, for they are framed copies but for their size. Perhaps one of the Grey Folk went rogue and fled to Alagaesia to make them in secrecy, but then why are Dwarfs the only race native to Alagaesia. I don't know."

"Enough," Kaealla said. "Back to the point." Rathon nodded, a new found respect for Kaealla in him. She was the designer of his species. Why wouldn't he respect her? "It is bizarre in the extreme that you, Rathon, carry the traits of Grey Folk mana. No one but the Grey Folk can produce what you call the pulse. I know I never gifted it to you, and so the only explanation is your heritage. Can you think of anyone in the line of your mother or father that could do what you do? It would be present within two to three generations."

Rathon scanned his knowledge of his heritage, on both his parent's sides. He paused for long on Brom, his grandfather, but concluded that man had an aptitude for magic like his brother, not mana. Then he went over to Arya's side. _Arya's father might_, he thought, _but I doubt it. He was an elf, and Kaealla's own testimony proves that all elves are born of magic._

"No," he said. "No I can't.

"Then there is but one conclusion that can be drawn," she said.

"That being what?"

Kaealla relaxed and said, "I am the master of mana. No one can wield but by my discretion. I gave mana to only one man that went to Alagaesia, and he is not in your line. There is no way for you to have gained this power other than this."

"What," he said.

Kaealla placed a hand on his shoulder. "Forgive me for this," she whispered.

"What," he said, his voice growing concerned.

"Tell him," Calibor said.

Kaealla locked gazes with him. "Zin Taralon is the one and only man who could be your ancestor, the one man that left to Alagaesia that was gifted with mana. And Eragon is not his descendent. But you are."

Rathon began to rise up from the bed. "If my father is not, then…"

"Eragon is not your father."

Rathon broke into a pace outside the room. He stormed out and onto the grassy knoll the building was set upon. He went and stood in front of a cliff that overlooked the ocean and there he fumed in anger. He heard feet behind him, but he refused to acknowledge them. Calibor stepped up beside him. They stood there, in silence, for almost a half hour. Finally, Rathon cast a glare over at Calibor. "You said you were on my side. You swore that."

"And I am," Calibor replied, still looking out at the ocean. He looked over at Rathon for a brief moment. "To my dying breath. Grey Folk do not abandon their promises."

Breathing heavily Rathon said, "Yet you let on in there that you knew of this."

Calibor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's obvious, Rathon. Brom could not use mana for the life in him. It's as second nature to you as your language. He couldn't use it to open a door. You can use it to fly. This fact stands true between you and your parents, and your parent's parents. You can use it; they can not. You are not of the line you have always known. Magic and mana are two opposite sides of the same coin, but it is impossible for pure breeds to be of the same line. That's why most Alagaesians can use magic, but very few are born with it in their veins. As soon as the line is tampered, even if only once, that line is tainted for the rest of time. Your supposed mother is a pure breed; magic flows through every part of her. But your father is not, and therefore the line should have been tainted. Your brother is not a pure breed magician; that fact cannot be overlooked. But it isn't this way for you. Quite to the contrary, you are the better off for it. Mana is inherently stronger than magic. This cannot be, Rathon; this simply can't. It's like saying an Urgal can be born to a family of dwarfs. It simply cannot be. You are different, dramatically so, from every one of your supposed family members. I am sorry," he said, his voice lowering, "for how sudden this must be. But facts are facts, whether we like them or not. Eragon is not your father, Arya is not your mother, and Brom is not your brother. Saying they could be is tantamount to saying a bear could be related to a deer."

Rathon was silent for a long time. Then he turned to Calibor. "Alright," he said. He was far from alright, but he was willing to accept what was put before him. His entire world had been destroyed. Who said it would be stay the same? "Then who is my father? Who is my mother?"

"That is something that I think I will let you find out on your own. You are here to make amends with those who hurt. Keep your eyes and your heart open and the answer shall become clear in time."

Rathon took a deep breath, calming himself. If he was honest, he had always wondered why it was he could shift objects to a degree of prowess displayed by no other. He had always chalked it up to be the fact that he had trained in it so much, but Calibor's words made more sense, for he had practiced magic just as long and nothing had come of it.

Calibor raised a hand out towards the jungles. "If you are ready, I shall take you to where those from Alagaesia live. Kaealla gave them land for each of the races, but many of them live in a single city."

"Does not Kaealla have questions for me?"

"You gave her all the answer she needed. Really, all she needed to know was how you were able to use mana. You answered her that."

"I have questions myself," he said, his voice guarded.

"And I shall be happy to answer them as we walk."

Rathon lifted an eyebrow. "You're coming with me?"

"Yes," Calibor said. "I think it's about time my existence was known."

* * *

Rathon fell the seven feet to the ground from the boulder. He landed on one knee and stood up. "I don't understand. If Kaealla made magic and mana, why doesn't she destroy Galbatorix? The most evil force in the world uses her creation to further his plots. Doesn't that anger her?"

"It does. But she has been anger because of that for far longer than Galbatorix has walked this earth. I think that even if I asked her, she would not turn her abilities on Galbatorix."

"But why?"

"Because mankind has used her gift for evil before. Even your king used it to kill hundreds. Even you are guilty of that crime. So many humans have used her gift that she gave them for evil that Galbatorix, at least as far as Kaealla is concerned, is no different. I couldn't explain it to you, but the severity of the crime is not important to her."

"How can that be, though? She made it. Does not she have pride of her work?"

"More pride than you can understand. That's part of the problem." Calibor kicked a patch of dead plants aside. "I'll start from the beginning and give you the abbreviated version. You know that at the start of the world there was my mother and father. They had my brother and me. A millennium went by. Kaealla was born and over the course of a thousand years, the two of us fell in love. It was then that she told me of her research into what would become magic and mana. Magic came as a result of mana; it was born as a result of our energy becoming sentient once it was cast out, creating what was later known as wild magic. It took her another five thousand years to master it, but on the night of lunar eclipse she managed to perfect it, and mana and magic were made. It was on that day that ShadowLight, LunarMist, and BloodFire were born. They were the first forms of wild magic. To this day, they continue to defy Kaealla's attempts to harness them and she has made no end to her efforts. They serve only who they decide to serve. She gave mana and magic to separate people, but no one had them both. She gave those who left for Alagaesia magic, with the pure breed among them being the elves. And to those who continued to live on here, she gave mana. Only a select few that went to Alagaesia went with mana, and vice versa for magic here."

"This still doesn't explain why she would allow Galbatorix to use her creation for evil," Rathon commented. "Why won't she fight back?"

"It hurts her," he said. He pushed some low hanging brush out of the way for them. "Mankind was her creation before magic. But when reports came of the land across the sea, and the elves determined that they would go there, she thought man would stay with her. But they didn't. They choose the gift of magic over her. They asked her for it and then left after she gave to them. She was wrathful in that time. Every day she contemplated her revenge. Finally, she came up with her master plan of how to enact vengeance on her betraying race."

"What did she do?" Rathon asked, briefly considering what a person with all that power could do if they applied themselves. The prospects frightened him.

"Absolutely nothing."

Rathon stopped, his eyes narrowed with confusion. "She punished them by giving them what they wanted? How does that make sense?"

Calibor looked back at him, his eyes twinkling in what would be amusement. "I regret to say this humors me, if for no other reason than the irony. It was her revenge in the same way that giving a pair of scissors to an infant would. Mankind did not understand magic; no one truly did, but they least of all. But they went out with it, like a child wielding a sword. Eventually, they would end up cutting themselves."

Rathon thought back to his history lessons, grasping what Calibor meant. Before the Grey Folk came and harnessed it, wild magic ran free and rampant. No one could control it and catastrophes were constant. "What was the great catastrophe that finally demanded your coming?"

"A man by the name of Dastian attempted necromancy. The magic was let loose in its full fury. Alagaesia was plunged into darkness, for the magic blotted out the sun across the land." Calibor sighed, as if deep in memory. "Echothain and I were walking the beaches when it happened. Seven hundred miles of sea and we could still see the darkness and feel the anger of the sentient magic. We went to Kaealla and convinced her to grant us enough power over magic to harness it. That magic, today, is known as the three Great Spells."

"But there were only two of you," Rathon said.

"Correct. We had to have a third. In Alalea, there lived an elf by the name of Eragon."

"The first Rider," Rathon said.

"Yes. We convinced him to come with us. It took about a month to get to Alagaesia; you experienced how the sea can make you forget how long you've been on it. Once we got there, we bound magic itself. However, a spell of that magnitude, to bind all of magic for the rest of time, requires a base. And it was decided that Echothain, and more specifically BloodFire, would be that base. It was this weight, the weight of the entire world of magic that I believed crippled his mind and drove him insane; which eventually led to his joining Galbatorix. When it was discovered where his mind was going, Eragon and I altered the spell so that it would draw only from BloodFire and not it's wielder. It was around this time that the spell between the elves and the dragons was altered to allow for human riders, but the damage to Echothain was already done."

Rathon thought quickly. "Those two events...they were thousands of years apart."

"Indeed they were." Calibor's eyes grew distant and he stopped and put a hand on the trunk of a tree. "That day, when I took on ShadowLight from Kaealla was the last day that I saw her, until now."

Rathon put a hand to his head. "That's…" he trailed. He couldn't even count how long that was.

"Five thousand, four hundred, thirty three years, seven months and eleven days. I believe you were there when I told her that."

Rathon shook his head, unable to wrap his mind around how long that was. "I didn't…that's so long. The entire scope of human history is only a chapter of your age. And in that entire time you never saw her?"

"I am as old as time," Calibor said. "But the pains of the heart still afflict me. No, I did not see her in that entire time." He smiled. "It's wonderful to finally be reunited with her. Enough of this, though. Have I thoroughly answered all the questions you had?"

"All that you're willing to answer," Rathon replied, thinking about the identity of his real father.

"Superb, as we draw near to the Alagaesian city."


	4. The Price of Forgiveness

**Spaaarx: :) To be fair, I did warn you about the absolute boatload of new stuff that was about to go down. Not totally sure what you're talking about with the bowing down comment, but I overall agree with it. My beta has saved my butt many times. God comment: exactly why I went the perfect opposite direction. On top of that Calibor is not a god, just a powerful man that the dwarfs titled a god. Not to worry about the account thing; :) always satisfied to know that there are at least people out there going to the trouble of tracking down my stories to read them. **

**Funnelwebs: Manaians: those who can use mana in the same way that magicians are those who can use magic. Not an actual word; but thank you for pointing it out. I am twenty years old, as of next May. Be interested on how you deduced that by the contents of the last chapter… Nopeers; Rathon was not born to Eragon's loins. I don't know about the continuing part. I'm a college girl that's trying to juggle half way decent grades so that I can get a job, an already existing job, and taking care of an elderly man. Back when I started, and none of those were a factor, I would say I would totally continue, but now I have a serious life to be tending to and I don't know if I want to invest two years+ into another story. But, I don't know.**

**Elemental Dragon Slayer: I'll be totally honest; it is extremely relieving to hear you say that I explained it well. I was stressing right as I clicked the "Add chapter" button, wondering about that very question.**

**Blackwind2254: :) Glad that I can still entice readers with some plot twists. I was beginning to think that everything I wrote was stale and predictable. **

* * *

Rathon stood on the hill under a tree, his hand on the bark, as he looked down at the city. His heart beat faster. Calibor stood beside him, looking down to it as well.

The city was cradled by two mountains on both sides, which stretched up into the clouds. The city was placed in such a way that it was in line with the path of the rising and the setting of the sun, so that the shadow of the mountains would not interrupt the light that illuminated the Alagaesians' world. And illuminated it did. From where Rathon stood, the city looked to have been crafted out of solid gold. Buildings were set in entrecote patterns, stretching from one end of the city to the other, which was almost ten miles in length. At the four corners there was a building, taller than the rest, with a different colored flag atop it. And at the center of the massive city was one great building, larger than even the palace on Vroengard, with a flag that flew with all four of the colors. Rathon could see Urgals, dwarfs, elves and humans going about their lives in the city.

Leonis crawled up beside Rathon. After his encounter with Kaealla, Leonis had rejoined them in the forest. _We finally made it, Rathon._

_Yes, but now comes the hardest part of the journey._

_A rider approaches._

Rathon looked up and saw a light blue dragon descending to them. With a gust of wind, the dragon landed and blocked Rathon's view of the city. The rider was dressed in the warmest flying clothes possible. Only his eyes were visible under the face mask, which was no more than a strip of cloth tied to either side of his head to break the wind. He undid the left strap of the mask and said, "Who are you, and what business have you here? We welcome the Tribes, but only if they ordain to alert us of their coming."

Calibor stepped forward. "My name is Kayalder, son of Del Narzvin. Your leader, Katelyn daughter of Katrina, will know my name. I have needs to speak with her, on urgent subjects for her ears alone to hear."

The rider gestured to Rathon. "And who is he? I can allow no one in that does not make himself known."

Calibor looked back at Rathon for a moment. "Suffice it to say that he…"

Rathon stepped forward. "I am Rathon ShadowLight," he said with boldness. It would soon be discovered that he was there. He may as well have no shame about it.

The rider's eyes lit with rage. His dragon flapped its wings. "How dare you step foot here, Accursed One?"

"I seek forgiveness of my sins," he said. He dipped his head. "I humbly ask for forgiveness."

"To hell with you!" the rider shouted. "My sister was in Ilirea when you blew it sky high. Why should I…" The rider withdrew his hand sharply and, breathing heavily he said, "I'll take you to Katelyn and let her do with you what she will." The rider's dragon took two bounding leaps of the ground and took flight, drifting back towards the city.

"Did that go as you had planned?" Calibor asked.

"Perhaps," Rathon said. "If I actually had a plan."

* * *

The cries of hundreds of the enraged echoed through the streets as Rathon, Leonis and Calibor went towards the main building. Urgals, dwarfs, elves and humans lined the roads, railing at him with every known insult. And Rathon accepted it, for it was deserved. He hung his head and paced down the roads, trying to ignore the wrath of the people who once knelt to him. It took almost ten minutes to walk to the center of the city, but when he did, he felt a presence he had not felt in a decade, but that he knew. He looked up from the streets to the building ahead.

There, standing in white robes, was Brom. A circlet of white was around his head. He held a staff in his hands and the anger of kings was in his eyes as he looked down at Rathon. Rathon felt like a mouse under the man's eye. Rathon stopped twenty feet in front of the steps that led up to the building, not wanting to go any closer. For a long moment he just stood there, looking up at Brom as the people railed against him.

Finally, Brom raised his hand and the guards began to quiet the people. Rathon expected Brom to speak, but he didn't. Instead, he turned to the side and looked back at the building. With a stride like that of a tiger, Katelyn walked out into the open light. Her hair was loose and it tumbled over her shoulders and down her silky dress. Her features had sharpened since he last saw her, a decade ago, but he still felt as though he knew her.

Unrestrained joy filled him at seeing her. Galbatorix had not lied; she had truly been raised and now she stood before him. The crowd was quiet. There was not a single stirring in the people, as they waiting for Katelyn to speak.

Katelyn leveled a finger at Calibor. "It has been quite some time since I have seen your face, Dragon Lord. Why now do you show it?"

"I come here on behalf of this man," he said, looking to Rathon.

"You call him a man; I call him a traitor and a murderer." Many in the crowd cheered.

"Have you ever known me to lie, Katelyn," Calibor responded. "That which I told you has come true."

Katelyn whipped her hand through the air. "You once told me something that conveniently occurred! A decade later, well past times of trial and tribulation when we greatly needed your help, you come here again, claiming to aid the man who caused all that suffering and death! Do you now expect me to trust you because of a vague promise made ten years ago?"

Calibor looked around at the jeering crowd. Then he closed his eyes and said, "As an emissary for Lady Kaealla I request a private hearing."

Katelyn sneered. "The depths of your desperation know no limits. You are no emissary for her."

"Katelyn, please," Calibor said. "Rathon is not what he once was, and what's more, he has never been what you have thought."

That appeared to take Katelyn somewhat by surprise. She raised an eyebrow. "Cryptic," she said as she went over to stand beside Brom. She spoke, but Brom did not. He continued to stare down at Rathon. Only once did his gaze break, when he flashed his eyes to Katelyn for a moment. That interval, however, was short lived. Katelyn nodded after a moment and said, "I will speak with you alone. Be aware however, that you stand as prisoners."

Calibor dipped his head and the two of them continued walking up the steps of the building, the crowd's angry cries lowered than ever before. Many of them called for his immediate execution. Brom followed them once they had passed and they all went into the shade of the building. Guards took up posts as soon as they were inside, but Brom waved off the one that went to stand at Rathon's right side, taking up the spot himself. They strode through the building, which was decorated with the four colors of the flag in the presence of drapes, floors, stairs and entire rooms.

They went on and on for what felt like an eternity. Rathon glanced over at Brom. He strode with an even pace, his face calm. "I'm….sorry for what happened in Alagaesia," Rathon said. Brom looked at him, but did not respond. Rathon returned his attention to the floor. _I guess I deserve this._

Katelyn stopped in front of a large double door that stood fifteen feet tall. She turned to them and said, "Before we enter you will divulge yourselves of your weapons."

"I carry no weapons," Calibor said. "And the ones Rathon had he left with Kaealla."

Katelyn scowled at him and then flicked her finger to the guards. Rathon grunted as two of them began to search him for anything that could be used for harm. They did the same for Calibor. Only when the guards gave the sign of clear did Katelyn relax. "And see," Calibor said. "Once more I speak the truth, as apparently revealing secrets of time and space was unsatisfactory for you."

Katelyn ignored him, turned and opened the doors. Inside was a large gathering hall with five tables that stretched almost fifty yards. Candles were set at intervals of ten feet on each of them and they were all pilled with delicacies, as though they had been preparing for a feast. Hanging from the ceiling was the four flags and the one that combined them all, bigger than the rest. In line with those flags, and at the far end of the hall, were set two thrones. On them sat Eragon and Arya.

Rathon swallowed past the lump in his throat. The two of them were conversing with each other silently. Katelyn began to walk to them at a fast pace and the guards pushed Calibor and Rathon behind her.

Katelyn knelt at the foot of the thrones and said, "Your highnesses."

Eragon lifted a hand and turned his attention on her. "Rise," he said.

Katelyn stood and gestured to Rathon and Calibor. "Even as I said, my liege, here he stands."

Eragon's eyes were dark as he stood. "Why do you come here, Rathon? Do you seek to canvass our homes to slaughter and pillage once more? Or has Galbatorix sent you as a spy to pray upon our weak points?"

"No," Rathon said weakly. He had spent so long fighting for this moment, and he could not find the words.

"'No,' what?" Arya said her voice equally harsh.

"No, I…haven't come to do that."

"Then what, you vagabond murderer, have you come here for?" When Rathon did not reply Eragon sat back down. "I am surprised to see you as well, Calibor."

Calibor dipped into a half bow. "Your eminence."

Eragon's face soured. "Do not patronize me. You are no better off here than Rathon." Katelyn spoke then.

"My Lord, he says that he is an emissary for Kaealla. I don't honestly believe him, but considering the kindness she has shown us, I didn't think it wise to take a chance."

"You thought well," Eragon said. "There are many people I would rather not have as enemies, and she is high on the list." Eragon returned his eyes to Rathon and there they rested with a cold, steely gaze. "Astonishing, is it not? I give you one of the most powerful forces in all of creation and you use it for the forces of evil. You cast your lot in with Galbatorix, a man that has more evil potential than anything that has ever stalked this land. You slaughter, butcher, and destroy everything that was our home, our families and our possessions. You force us to flee the land that your forefather fought for decades to regain. And now, you have the unspeakable audacity to step foot before us here, in our home that we built with our own two hands! Amazing that a son of mine would dare…"

Something snapped in Rathon's head. Built up anger that had been boiling inside of him burst forth as Eragon said that he was his son. He slammed his fist down on a table, cracking the wood in half. Focused energy burst out of his back, breaking the swords of the guards into shards. "How dare you!" he shouted. "I am no son of yours and I dare say you have known that since the day I was born! How dare you have sat there for years and called me your child, letting me believe that I was your son when I was so obviously not! You are not my father! You are not my mother! And you openly lied to my face every time I saw you! You are no king!" Hands gripped him and pushed him to the floor. Swords were laid on the back of his neck as he fought to get free.

He was convinced that someone was about to cut his throat when Eragon shouted with a voice that echoed through the hall, "Release him!" As the echoes faded the hands and swords were removed. Rathon pushed himself up. Eragon stood at the foot of the throne. "Leave us," he said to the warriors. "Leave us now and do not step foot here again until I saw otherwise." The warriors bowed and departed. "Brom, Katelyn," Eragon said as they began to leave as well. "Stay. I have need of your judgment." Rathon stood up as Eragon returned to the throne. Eragon relaxed and glanced over at Arya. She dipped her head and Eragon sighed. "Very well," he whispered. He looked down at Rathon. "How did you find out?"

Brom and Katelyn's eyes widened. Katelyn said, "It's true?"

"It is," Arya said.

"And behold," Calibor said. "Once more I speak the truth."

"But how," Katelyn said. "I stood outside the room as you delivered him. I heard your cries."

"What you heard were cries of childbirth," Arya said. "But they were not mine. They belonged to another. I used a spell to alter the sounds to match mine so that you might be deceived."

Katelyn looked offended. "Why would you do this?"

"Because a friend of a friend asked it of me."

"And so you lied to the whole of the world?"

"Much was at stake," Eragon said. "Calibor, are you responsible for this?"

Calibor shook his head. "No, I am not. And if I might venture to point out, you did a poor job covering it up. The differences that stand between him and his 'brother' are many and varied, not to mention impossible."

"I had no control over that. We convinced the masses; that was what was important."

"Why," Rathon said, enraged, "why was it oh so important to convince the world that I was everything I'm not?"

"Because it put your life at risk. I will say nothing more." Eragon said, the harshness of his voice returning. Then he visibly forced himself to calm. "Why are you here, Rathon? To enact vengeance on me for slights that were blessings? I must know what to tell the people, and they will not be silent until they have their answer."

Calibor spoke to Rathon, though he kept his eyes on Eragon. "Rathon, it will ill serve you now to boil in your rage. Remember what Malizar died for."

Rathon's eyebrow twitched as he remembered the dying expression on the face of his sole human companion for ten years. He tightened his fist and said, "I am here, because shortly after Galbatorix took Aesire's body, he turned on me. Betrayed the betrayer, I guess you could say. For ten years I have fled from his grasp, until little over a month ago, my loyal servant Malizar, who was my only aid, was found. They tortured him to death while I napped on a hill. His final words to me were to come here, and to seek forgiveness for what I had done." Rathon knelt down on one knee, his head bowed. "And so I came here, and I now submit myself to whatever action or punishment you see fit. I only want to be absolved from the atrocities I have committed against you. I will do whatever I have to."

Silence reigned in the hall. Rathon felt his pride hurt, but the words he said he meant more than any he had ever spoken. His one desire then was to be forgiven. Eragon looked down at him, his gaze unwavering. Rathon thought the silence would never end.

Finally, Eragon spoke. "You will hang on the whipping post for all to see. You will be flogged sixty seven times, exactly the number of people who died while constructing this place that you forced us to flee to by the most able bodied man among us. That is your punishment, to bear the pain that you caused us. If that does not kill you, I will hand you over to the people and they shall decide what is to be done with you."

Rathon swallowed. It was what he wanted, a path to redemption. But the angry cries of the people outside reminded him that his prospects were bleak and his chances slim if it was to be them that decided his fate. Even still, it was the only path available to him. He looked up at his once father and said, "I will do it."


	5. The Sixty Seven, the Twelve and the One

**Spaaarx: Yeah, sorry last chapter was a bit boring. It was the foundation for this one; which I predict with its fourteen Word pages should provide substantially more entertainment. **

**Elemental Dragon Slayer: His heritage will be addressed in the near to medium future, I believe. Kind of hard to see all that's going to happen on a linear timeline at this point. **

**Blackwind2254: Yeah; that was probably the first chapter in the entire trilogy that wasn't pertinent to one degree or another to the plot. I mean, literally, had that chapter not been included you could have gone to this chapter and deduced everything that happened.**

* * *

Rathon plotted up the steps of the raised platform. His hands were bound with rope and he was followed by seven magicians and seven manaians, to ensure there was no treachery. Despite his beating heart, which pulsed with fear, Rathon had no intentions of causing trouble. He had earned this and he would suffer for it. He accepted this punishment and would have accepted a punishment of several orders of magnitude more harsh if it meant redemption.

Surrounding the platform were hundreds, thousands of people. They crossed the four races that were present, but he didn't make that distinction. All he saw was a single nation that cried out for his blood. At the top and in the middle of the platform was a single post, a stretch of wood that went straight and had a bisection near the top where his hands would be bound.

The crowd began shouting as they saw him. Ignoring them, the man who held the whip took sharp hold of his shoulder and shoved him over to the post. Rathon did not fight back. His hands were untied and he felt the cold edge of a blade run down the length of his spin as the man cut away his tunic. Then the man took his arms and put them up on the crossbeam and tied them there. Rathon bit his tongue as the man tightened the knot; it felt like his hands might pop off from the force. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brom step up on the platform and beside him was Nayter. No one made any move to stop them. Brom was dressed in his white robe, but the one thing that caught his attention was that he could not see Nayter's ears or her tail.

Rathon heard the sound of paper being shuffled. Then a deep voice from behind him said, "Behold the traitor, Rathon, orchestrator of our demise! He has come here, seeking forgiveness. The King Eragon has proclaimed that he is to hang and suffer by the whip for the pains that we have suffered on his account. Then his fate is ours to decide." The cheer that went up did not encourage Rathon. "Sixty seven times he is to be flogged for his transgressions!" The crowd cheered once more. Then the man turned to him and said, "Lord LunarMist; have you anything to add?" Brom looked at Rathon for a moment, and then shook his head.

_Why doesn't he speak? _Rathon thought, just before the first strike was laid. The whip impacted him and set his skin ablaze with the fire of a sword cut. "One," the man said. Once more the whip was beat against his skin. "Two." Rathon's fingernails dug into the wood of the frame, his every instinct screaming to fight. But he wouldn't. This was his cross to bear and he would. It was the reason Malizar had to die.

Rathon lost his sense of time and his placement in space. He forgot himself in the pain of the whip. By the time the man intoned, "Forty-five," Rathon had forgotten his own name or what species he was. For all he knew, the whip would continue for another second or for the rest of time.

He thought of Brom, how he had looked at him with the anger of deities. How he had not spoken a word to his supposed brother, or to anyone in Rathon's presence. Then he thought of Eragon and how his "father" had spoken to him with such wrath. He thought of the people around him, those who once dropped to their knees before him, now calling out for his blood to be shed. And he felt hopeless. Then he thought of Katelyn. Though her words had been angered, her eyes had not. He didn't know if it was some illusion brought on by the whipping, but now that he thought about it he had seen more pain than anger in her eye.

Rathon slowly was brought back to consciousness. The first thing he noticed was that his arms were still bound overhead. He stood there, waiting for the blow he knew was coming. But it did not. He opened his eyes and looked around. It was too painful to turn his head, so he simply moved his eyes. And what he saw he did not comprehend at first.

Beasts, giant black things only slightly smaller than dragons, ran through the streets. They ran like tigers or lions. People ran through the streets, their screams horrified. On the backs of the creatures, there were people dressed in black cloth that held out their arms to things around them and as they did those things were destroyed. Whether it was the side of a house or a human skull, they broke it without effort.

Rathon shook his head and thought, _Is this real? _He looked to his right and saw one of the creatures' eyes as it ran past him, red as blood with a light trailing the eye itself. Malice was heavy in it. Then it was gone out of his sight. _I should hope that's real, _he though. _Else I might be going mad. _He looked up at the ropes that bound him. He yanked on them but they would not budge. He growled and his eyes bulged as the pain from his back ruptured his ability to think. The ropes snapped in half as the force of his energy cut them like a blade. He collapsed and tried to fight back the pain. He put a hand to his forehead and concentrated. "Be sealed," he said. The scars on his back, which cried ruby tears, were forced together by his mana. He staggered up. _Best case, _he thought, staggering off the platform. _I'll be able to hold that for a couple of hours._

He looked up at the creatures running through the streets and said, "If what Kaealla said holds true with magicians, that there are few pure breed left, then it stands to reason that there are few pure breed manaians left. And I see that you use mana, but none of you seem to be born of pure mana blood. Therefore," he said, tightening his fist. "Let me show you just what a pure breed can do."

* * *

Rathon dodged the force of energy he felt from the rider of the creature nearest to him. The force was centered, focused, a single beam directed at him. The riders through the course of their attack did not seem to have a target. They didn't attack people, only possessions and objects. The only time someone was slain was when their body happened to cross the path of the rider's mana.

Rathon fought to the extreme limits of his power. He did everything he could think of to stop the riders without directly killing them. It would serve him ill if he killed many of them only to find out it was some practical joke by some band of youths that he didn't understand. It was difficult to fight to a ceiling of aggression, to fight without the intent to end the fight as quickly as possible.

Warriors, both magicians and manaians lent their support to the battle and so Rathon's trepidation slowly diminished. As he saw riders and their mounts fall and die he reasoned that any sane group of younglings would let it be known that it was merely a joke when heads started rolling. And so he put more force behind his attacks. He targeted heads, hearts and every vital organ he knew of rather than the legs of the creatures.

There was a point in the battle where a creature tackled him and he had direct eye contact with the thing for a split moment in close quarters. It was the most petrifying thing he had ever seen. In that eye, he saw everything that frightened him all coalesced into one center. He quickly obliterated the eye with a power blast, wherein he sent energy into the creature's eye and then willed to shot outward in every direction, causing shrapnel effect.

Over the course of the hours the rider's number lowered. They did not seem to have any reinforcements. The dragons that had been outside the city gradually returned and the riders began to fear. Their attacks grew hesitant and their pauses grew longer. Before long they began to call for a retreat.

Rathon step around the corner of a building and leaning against it. The energy needed to keep his back in check grew more and more with each passing moment and it was beginning to sake his will to fight. He looked up and saw the creatures running out through the streets, the opposite direction in which they came. Rathon staggered forward. _You're not getting away, _he thought weakly. With a bellow he tossed himself into the fray and caught hold of one of the saddles of the beasts. He held on with all his might as the creature ran, its movements causing him to be tossed from left to right.

It could have been an eternity that he held on, but when he opened his eyes they had yet to leave the city. He looked ahead and saw that they were last in the precession of creatures fleeing the city. He saw a gaping hole in one of the walls protected the city's western edge, and the creatures jumping through it. Rathon tightened his grip on concentrated on one of the larger pieces of rocks that were rubble from the wall. Just as the creature he held onto passed through the wall Rathon pulled at it with his mana and with all his might. The rock came at them as though it had been thrown by a Kull, ramming the creatures head.

The creature yelped like a dog as it was sent flying several yards away, where it slid to a stop, unconscious. The other riders continued on, headless of their fallen comrade. Rathon staggered up and wiped his brow, feeling warm liquid on his fingers. He examined the creature lying before him. It had black scales that ran its entire body, a tail that stretched a good eight feet and a crest on its head that separated its eyes. It must have been forty feet from the tip of its head to its tail. Then Rathon saw the rider. The person, who was dressed in black like the others, was standing up behind it. Their mask had fallen. Rathon approached them silently, arm mana ready to destroy the individual if they put up a fight. He gripped their shoulder and yanked them around. The person turned and fell, for apparent lack of balance. Rathon hesitated.

A young girl lay before him. Her hair was silvery white and stretched down beyond her shoulders. Her eyes were golden like Hola's. She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. "Was it you who caused that?"

"Aye," Rathon said, biting his tongue against the pain from his back. The jarring from his ride on the creature had caused him to lose control of the mana and his back had split open into many cuts.

"How?" she said. Her voice was small, like a child's. "You look like them, but you smell like us. How can that be? You used mana; I can practically see it on you. But…you look like them…"

"I am pure breed," he said. "Born of Alagaesian blood."

The girl tilted her head. "So, that line remained pure through all the ages? Remarkable."

"What is this thing?" he asked, looking to the creature.

Before the girl could reply, he heard Katelyn call his name. He turned and saw her and several warriors running to them. They slowed as they saw who the rider of the creature was. Katelyn, her face astounded, walked up beside him.

"You captured her," she said.

"Who is she?"

Katelyn looked to him and then back to the girl. "She, the Leader of the Twelve Tribes."

* * *

Rathon lay on a bed face down as a healer lay a coating of mashed leaves on his back. "What are the Twelve Tribes?" he asked.

Katelyn, who stood leaning against a wall said, "The people who remained here when our ancestors took to the seas, those who decided to stay. They have all the same races we do; the only thing that separates us is our abilities. When we came here and Kaealla agreed to give us land, they defected from her and those the Twelve Tribes were born. There aren't really twelve of them; the name refers to the twelve members of the council that finalized the decision to break off from Kaealla's leadership. They choose that girl to be their leader."

"Why?" he said, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"She's one of the Grey Folk. The youngest, I imagine, but she was still the oldest and wisest among those who broke off. Since their formation, the numbers of the Twelve Tribes have grown; since there are people beyond our borders and those of Kaealla that side with the Twelve. People that I would call barbarians rather than people. It is they that supply the Twelve with the Garthin, the creatures that they ride. We've attempted peaceful communications with them since we were given this land and we haven't heard a word from them."

Rathon sat up, breathing heavily to fight back the pain, and looked over at the darkened corner of the room, where the girl sat. "She doesn't look dangerous," he said.

"To the untrained eye, a snake is not dangerous."

Rathon examined her. She sat in a corner, her knees against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She did not speak, she did not move. All she did was stare straight ahead. She seemed to be a bored child, not one of the Grey Folk and a leader of rebellious army. The Grey Folk Rathon had met were powerful, their very presence mighty, and assured of themselves. In all ways this child seemed to be anything but that.

The door to the room opened and Rathon turned his whole torso to look. His grip on the bed tightened as he saw that it was Brom that walked in. A white bandage was wrapped around his head. Beside him stood Nayter, dressed in the same white robes as Brom. What surprised him was that he could not see her ears or tail.

Katelyn pushed herself away from the wall and Brom directed his gaze to her. They looked at each other for a long moment and Katelyn scowled. "That is not fair."

"It may not be fair," Nayter said, "but it is needed. Rathon has committed crimes that cannot be ignored."

"Look at his back," Katelyn said. "Has he not suffered more whips than any standard punishment?"

A realization came over Rathon that both pleased and surprised him. She was fighting for him.

"Katelyn," Nayter said. "I am not fond of the ways of confrontation. I returned BloodFire to you for a reason. However, this is Eragon's decision and you are his spokesperson. It is your responsibility to hand him over to the people. If they choose to have mercy on him, then so be it. It is their right. By protecting Rathon, you do more harm than good and you do it in the name of nothing, for what shall you gain? You will likely lose your position and the people's opinion of you, but what is there to gain by taking this stand? Nothing. Please, for the good of the many, stand down." She spoke with the same small voice she had a decade ago, but something in her tone bespoke power. _Holding one of the Great Spells leaves a person changed, _he concluded.

"But it is not right," she growled. "He suffered his consequence and has delivered us the leader of the Twelve! If one of our other warriors accomplished so much he would be showered with praise to no end, but now it is to be that he is crucified?"

Brom cast a gaze down to Nayter and she looked back up at him. She nodded and said, "Brom is willing to hand him over for you, so that your conscience will be clear. But at the end of the day, the result shall be the same."

"Katelyn," Rathon said, rising slowly. "I am fine. I committed heinous acts against these people. Many of their family members' blood are on my hands. I will accept this with open arms. If they decide to forgive me, so be it. If they decide to kill me, so be it. I offer myself up as atonement for what I have done."

Katelyn looked between Brom and Rathon, her eyes angered. "Fine," she said at last. She looked back at Brom, her gaze steely. "I will deliver him over to the hands of his death. It will ill fight the prince and his wife to do something so bloody." She turned to Rathon and said, "Let's go." Rathon hobbled after her, but stopped beside Brom.

"Why does he not speak?" he asked.

Nayter, a faint growl in her voice, responded, "He can't. His voice does not work. It was the price he paid to the Godly Contract. It was the price he paid to thwart you." Rathon could not think of anything to say, so he continued on after Katelyn, his mind heavy burdened. Four guards took up place beside him and without him quite noticing it, Calibor as well. He glanced over and saw him. Calibor did not look at him, but said, "I said it once and I shall say it again. I am on your side, Rathon, to my dying day."

Katelyn trudged up the stairs of the platform and Rathon and Calibor soon after her. Arrayed before them were the countless people from before, as well as more, since the riders that had been outside the city were now there. Humans, elves, dwarfs and urgals all looked up at him, their eyes like the burning of flaming arrows. Their voices as they roared and cheered for his blood drowned out all other sounds.

Katelyn raised a hand to Rathon. "Behold, Rathon ShadowLight, your enemy!" The crowd cheered as one. "Do you want his blood?" She cried. The crowd roared. "Then for shame," she shouted, and her voice reverberated with the power of magic. The crowd quieted. "How weak is your memories? The day we arrived here and the great Kaealla agreed to give us land to grow a life for ourselves, what were the words she said to us. 'Urgal has befriended man, elf has befriended dragon. Those who were once sworn enemies have joined together. Forget the ties that once bound you to one another as foes as done a new way; a way of acceptance and forgiveness. In doing so, you free yourself from the primitive ways of hatred.'" Katelyn began to pace back and forth. The crowd was absolutely silent; not a murmur went through them. "Have you all forgotten so quickly those words, spoken by the creator of magic? If she is not to be considered wise, then whom? We, as a single people made of four, choose to abide by her wisdom and forgot what hatred we once had for each other. And now, when an old enemy walks into our midst, powerless and willing to accept punishment, what do we do? We cry out for his blood to be shed? It would be one thing entirely if Rathon had come here, fire spewing from his dragon's maw and his sword cleaving open our bodies, but was that the case? No! He came here humbled and willing to accept any form of consequence we saw fit! What man of evil would do such a thing? Truly an imbecilic one. And his companion," she said, gesturing to Calibor. "Time has come for his nature to be known. Dwarfs!" she called, looking back at the crowd. "You look to the god Morgothal! Riders, whether you be human or elf, you look to the maker of your second half, your dragons! Calibor, Lord of Dragons! Is he worthy of no trust?" Gasps ran through the crowd and many dwarfs sank to their knees.

Katelyn lowered her head and said, "When this city was completed, and the five flags flew, we swore with the most solemn oaths to forget our old ways of hatred and war. Time has come now to prove that we are a better society joined as one. Your old enemy has come before you, apologizing for his wrongs and humbly begging your forgiveness, saying and proving that he will abide by any punishment of our choice. And as the King as declared, I now hand him over to you now. Do with him what you will. Adopt the new way of peace and acceptance, or return to the hatred ways of your forefather; those who burned and died in the wars forged from ignorance and malice in the days past. The choice is yours." Katelyn backed away.

Twenty members of the crowd, who all wore robes of white, gathered together in a huddled circle and whispered to one another. Rathon stood in silence, awaiting the death he thought was almost certainly seconds away. Calibor stood beside him, a slightly irked look on his face. _She didn't have to be the one to tell them all that, did she?_

_Slightly preoccupied at the moment, _Rathon replied. His heart was beating so quickly that he thought the crowd must have heard it. He tried to swallow, but his dry throat rejected it each time. He took a shaky breath as five of the members of the circle dispatched from the group and began to go around the crowd. For almost a half an hour the five darted about and whispered to the people in the crowd. _How long is this to drag on?! _He thought. As though on cue the five returned to the group and whispered for a long moment. Then one member of the circle dispatched himself and walked up to the platform. He was old, a beard stretching down to his knees and his eyes almost closed from age. He stopped at the foot of the platform and said, "It is our decision, Lady Katelyn, that this man be freed, under the stipulation that the scars on his back receive no treatment other than the mundane, to ensure that he will never forget what he did to us."

Rathon could hardly believe his ears. He stood there and all he could hear was the bounding in his ears from his heart. Calibor wrapped an arm around him and shook him happily. Katelyn dipped her head and said, "Then let it be." The crowd, seeming to have a change of heart from Katelyn's speech, cheered for him. Many stayed to speak with him, but some went away from that place, their eyes angered.

For some hours Rathon stood there, talking to anyone who came up to him. Most wanted to hear him apologize for the many people he had killed in Ilirea and to give their forgiveness. It amazed him that they had forgiven him; it had been his goal since he left Alagaesia, but he had not truly expected it would come to fruition. Towards the end a dwarfs came up the platform and knelt to Calibor.

"I dare say I did not expect this day to come until after my heart stopped beating." He looked up at Calibor. "You are the striking image, my God, of what we have drawn of you."

"Many years ago," he said, holding a hand out to the dwarf. He took it and stood. "When my family was about to recede, your people asked that we sit for them so that they might draw us and remember us. I, my love and my father were the only ones to accept. You will find the statues of Guntera to be of distinct accuracy, for he took vengeance on any who would paint him in a different way than the original."

The dwarf dipped his head again. "The God Guntera is a fickle one."

Calibor laughed shortly. "Indeed he is."

The dwarf looked up to Calibor. "Please, my God Morgothal, do not take this as an insult. But there are those among my people who cast aspirations on the validity of the claim that you are who you say you are. I swear on the bones of mine ancestors that I am not among their number, but please. Is there any way you might set their hearts at ease?"

Calibor smiled and placed a thumb on the dwarf's brow. He removed it an instant later. "You were born of Durgrimst Quan and raised as a priest. I thank you for the many sacrifices you made to me in your youth. I wish you to know that I accepted them all. Now then, on the day of ending, when Galbatorix took flesh once more and the dwarfen clans came to their end, you were in Farthen Dur, though you wish you had been with your family to die with them. Your sister, Garlithia, was bitten by a snake the week before and died peacefully long before Galbatorix knocked down the door of the clans. She even now dines in my hall." Calibor's eyes filled with affection and he said warmly, "All of your family sit in thrones and dine on food that a king would envy for what they suffered in this life. And I now make you this promise: because you were the first dwarf to approach me in faith and accept me as your god, they shall move to the head of the table and sit with me for the rest of time when I come there. And you, Arandor, shall be seated at my right hand at the head of the Table of the Gods, for you were the first of many who accepted me for what I was, in absolute faith and with no doubt in your mind." Calibor put a hand on the dwarf's head. "Your descendants shall be great and they will prosper because of you. They are blessed by your courage and your faith." The dwarf's eyes were filled with tears by the time Calibor silenced.

"Forgive me," he said, his voice chocked. He wiped at his eyes with his arm.

"You are forgiven. Go now; go to all who hold doubt of me and tell them what you have seen and heard. Testify to them about what has transpired that their doubt may come to its end. Though your reward is secured, go and do this in obedience to me."

The dwarf bowed as low as a slave. "I will. Let your will be known to me and I shall see it be done with all my strength."

"And that is all that I ask," Calibor said as the dwarf backed away.

Rathon gazed at him for a while. "You really are Morgothal, aren't you?"

Calibor smiled and laughed softly. "After my mother and father fell asleep, as all Grey Folk must do at some point, and when Echothain betrayed us, I was left to govern all the races. Kaealla was hurt by the humans' rejection, and I will not need to sleep for many years. And so it is as I told you and I do not lie. The number of my names is as vast as the sand on the shore or the stars in the skies. Morgothal is one of them, yes. But just ShadowLight is one of your names, it is not who and what I am, just something I am referred to as."

"So then you are the true one god of all the races?"

'No," Calibor said. "I am a man bound by mortality. Make no mistake, there are gods that watch us all and I am sure someday I shall have to answer to them for wearing their title. But if damnation is the consequence for giving the people of the world something to hope for, then I will bare it. Since the dwarfs were made without knowledge of their maker, I stepped in and made a home for them. You'll note that though Helzvog is their chosen God, it is with Morgothal that they will rest and dine with for all eternity. When all is said and done I may not be able to go to that place, but it is there for them. The dwarfs endured much in the days before the elves and humans arrived and they have suffered much since. It seemed too cruel to me to leave them without a hope for the future; something to strive and fight for. So I gave them one. Perhaps when I die the gods will have retribution on me, but I will not repent of doing what is right and just with the power I have been given."


	6. The Truth Revealed

**Funnelwebs: I have nothing to worry about in giving out personal information. I live in a house with two men that hold very strongly to the concept of the right to bear arms; and use it. **

**Elemental Dragon Slayer: :) Glad to hear it had some an effect. I've been plotting that chapter for so sticking long that I realized the other day that I hadn't really thought about the three to four chapters after it. **

**Spaaarx: I realized in that in the first five bloody hack jobs I wrote way back when, there were an uncountable number of loose ends. Off the top of my head Eragon used scrying to contact Oromis to talk about Brom, when he was outside Du Weldenvarden. Rather large plot hole there. So in this series I really wanted to try to make sure that every character was accounted for and useful. :) So thank you for saying that. I've been trying to make the chapters longer; since I came to the realization that nobody likes a four page update. So I've been popping out ten to eleven page ones instead.**

* * *

**Sorry for the update time. Eagerly counting down the last few seconds until the last episode of Red vs. Blue season 10 came out will do that to you. It doesn't help that I stood outside my local GameStop, along with a few hundred other people, for around seven hours until the midnight release of HALO 4. And that game has basically been my life of free time since I bought it. Mind bogglingly good, but it eats away at your life like a ravenous carnivore.**

* * *

Rathon woke to the sun warming his face. He opened his eyes and looked up to the roof above him, reflecting on the events of the past days. The people of Alalea had accepted him; some hesitantly, others grudgingly. He thanked Kaealla with all his might for the lesson she had taught the people when they arrived, for he considered it the reason he was even alive. Some individuals had not looked so favorably on his return, and sought the public's aid in banishing him, but very few cast their lot with such people.

Their forgiveness astounded him. There were many people that could tie their death to him, and most of those had family members that had chosen to forget that. Some days, he woke and wondered if it had all been a dream.

Pangs of regret resonated in him when he saw Brom. Brom had placed great stock and pride in his magical talents, and for him to sacrifice it would be like a master swordsman giving up his sword hand. He apologized to his supposed brother many times, but each time the man's eyes grew steely with stoic passiveness that Brom had used so often earlier in his life. It tormented Rathon that he had been the one that necessitated its return.

Katelyn, Rathon decided, was a gift from some generous god that looked favorably on him. Whether through ignorance or taking Kaealla's instructions to an extreme seriousness, she behaved in all ways as though not a day had passed since their coronation in Alagaesia. She would greet him with a smile and ask how he was doing and talk with him as though he were a friend, not an accepted enemy as some others did. It humbled him, and warmed his heart in a way that he had not felt for a decade.

What besieged his mind the most, however, even beyond Katelyn, was the identity of his parents. He sometimes sat on a hillside that overlooked a beautiful landscape for hours, mulling over what Calibor, Kaealla and Eragon had said for anything that he could use to decipher the truth of his parentage. He would spend hours talking to Leonis about it and they would both rack their brains for some answer to the puzzle, but none came. It hurt him deeply to know that his mother and father had given him away, whether it was meant as a his parents forsaking him or something else entirely, meant for his benefit. Rathon refused, however, to consider that his parents had abandoned him. Eragon had walked that path and it had turned up nothing but anger and baseless devastation. He was determined to uncover the identity of his parents, but he would not allow himself to become so embroiled in his search and forget what he had been given: a second chance at life, a gift that few received.

Rathon pushed himself up and leaned against his arms. He let his eyes glide over the room that had been given to him, a medium sized room that was connected to the palace. The top of the east wall was dedicated to book shelves and there was a depression in the floor lined with pillows and cushions for reading. Four oil lamps hung in each of the corners of the room. In one corner was a counter with a basin of water and several sets of linen clothes. And on the other side was his bed. The entire room was large enough to accommodate several people comfortably.

A knock came from his door. Rathon got up and donned his shirt. "Come in," he said. The door opened and he smiled as Katelyn peeked in.

She smiled back and opened the door more. "I didn't know if you were awake yet." The sun eliminated her brown hair and made it shine. She wore a dress of white and the rays made it bright and almost hard to look at. As she came in he noticed a scent on her, sweet and clean, like a rose. Rathon's heart warmed as he looked at her.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Eragon would like to speak with you. I'm not sure about what."

"Is he in his throne room?"

"No. And that's why I'm here, to take you to him so that you don't get lost as a blind man." He smiled and raised a hand.

"Lead the way."

They started off together through the corridors of the palace. There were many people inside, of all the different races. He noted how few urgals there were and said, "I've been meaning to ask. Where are all the urgals? Did some refuse to come with you? I never went far from my home in Alagaesia, but I never saw any."

Katelyn's face grew heavy with sorrow. "During the days after my resurrection, Galbatorix wreaked havoc in the world. Nayter told me that only a single clan of the dwarfs survived. And of the urgals, only fifteen survived." Rathon slowed for a moment. _Because of what I did, _he thought. _An entire species almost went extinct. _It was a sobering thought. "Do not let your mind dwell on it," she said. "They thrive today."

The pair of them went up a flight of stairs that must have numbered in the hundreds. At the top he said, "And so BloodFire accepted you again?"

"More than accepted," she replied. "Nayter said that it was starting to force itself out of her days before I retook it."

"And how has Nayter been?" he asked, thinking of how angered her voice had been when she told him about what had happened to Brom. He felt particularly guilty about her, considering he had used her to bait Brom into attacking.

Katelyn looked ahead into the rising sun and her eyes reflected its light. "Shortly before the attack on Vroengard by the Black Chamber, Brom came to me and told me he loved me. That I was all he had ever wanted and that, if needed, he was willing to abdicate his position as king to be with me. I rejected him, it seemed all together the wrong time and place. Then I died." She placed a hand on her heart. "Death is an experience of such intensity that words would do it no justice, so I won't even speak of it. When I rose, Brom was not there, nor were you. The whole world had been tipped upside down and the contents were spilling out. So much happened in those days, when we were gathering all peoples to us in Alagaesia. And when Brom rejoined us…" she shook her head. "Nayter was the focal point of his every action, his every movement, his every breath. They spent almost every moment together on the ships. I believe I saw them apart only twice. Little surprise that Nayter was with child by the time we arrived here." That caught Rathon off guard. He didn't say anything, however. He sensed that Katelyn was not done.

Her eyes lowered to the stone floor below them. "What I cannot begin to understand, however, is Brom's sacrifice. I rejected him, turned him away when he bore his soul open to me. I trampled on his heart when he exposed it for the first time that I have ever seen. I did possibly the worst thing I could have." Her voice wobbled at the end and Rathon suspected she had begun to cry. It burdened his heart to see her shed tears over Brom, mostly, he regrettably concluded, due to jealousy. "And yet," she said, her voice strengthening. "He chose to sacrifice the power that meant the most to him in order to give me life again. He chose to sacrifice himself, so that someone who had hurt him might live." She put her hand up to her head. "And he didn't even know what the price would be. Nayter told me that he instructed LunarMist to take what was needed to satisfy the Contract; he did not front the price. He was prepared to pay the cost, even if it was his own life." For a long moment they walked in silence. Finally Katelyn raised her head. "It has been ten years and I still cannot come to comprehend his kindness, his forgiveness."

Rathon was silent. He could think of nothing to say. Privately, he seethed in self-loathing. While he had been busy consolidating the return of the evilest force in the world, Brom had been signing away an open contract of sacrifice to ease the pain of the one he loved and to resurrect the one he once loved.

"Look," Katelyn said. He looked forward up yet another flight of stairs and saw Brom and Eragon talking at its top. A young girl stood by Brom's side. She was only about four feet tall and had brown hair with brazen gold eyes. As he saw Brom he heard in his mind, _I don't know, Sire. She is dangerous, that fact cannot be… _The thought was cut off as Brom looked down at them. Eragon turned to them.

"Rathon," he said, nodding his head. "Katelyn," he said and he repeated the motion.

_Sire, _the words came in Rathon's mind again. _Do I have your leave to depart?_

"No," Eragon said. "I still need to speak with you about the leader of the Twelve." Brom dipped his head and crouched down so that he was at eye level with the girl. His thoughts did not echoed to Rathon, but he was sure he was speaking to her.

The girl nodded and said, "The blue one, you mean?" Brom nodded, stood and patted her on the back as she went scampering away.

_Would you go with her? _came the voice again and Brom looked at Katelyn. _ I fear she will get the wrong one. Her right eye still has trouble coming to focus sometimes._

Katelyn nodded and followed after the girl, casting one last glance at Rathon.

"Who was that?" Rathon asked.

_My daughter, _was the short reply. Rathon looked back at the girl. If circumstances had been otherwise, that would be his niece. Eragon cleared his throat, drawing their attention. He flicked two fingers towards an open span of openings in the wall that overlooked the entire city. Brom and Rathon followed him as he slowly walked to them.

"Rathon, I welcome you as a citizen of this city since the people have chosen to accept you. I put your fate in their hands and they chose to follow in Kaealla's footsteps. I am told that there was a large amount of manipulation by Katelyn to that affect. Do you have anything to say to that?"

Rathon thought for a moment. "Perhaps, but it was no more manipulation than your cousin when he convinced the village of Carvahall to follow him. I would sooner name it persuasion."

Eragon nodded slowly. "Good enough," he said. "And now that you are here, what do you plan to do?" They stopped in front of one of the openings and looked down at the city. Though it was rather early the city bustled with life. By the size of the people below, Rathon suspected they stood at the near top of the center tower.

"I hadn't given it much thought," he admitted. "I scarcely dared hope that you and the people would overlook what I did."

"Your function must be something, Rathon. Everyone must contribute something. Unless you have an illness or deformity that substantiates an exception, you must do something. Farmer, warrior, healer, merchant. There are many titles, but you must have one. What do you do that is unique?" Rathon felt like he did when he was a child in training, when Eragon or Aesire would prod him towards an answer but refuse to give it to him, forcing him to work it out for himself.

Rathon thought about it. He wanted to be of use, but where? He opened his hand and stretched his arm out the window, palm down. Four seconds later a rock came buzzing up from the ground and landed in his hand. He drew his arm back and began tossing the rock up and down. "I know this art, mana, better than most. I'm told that I am better at it than many people that are born in this land, who were given mana to begin with." He caught the rock midair with mana, and focusing his effort, crumbled it into dust, but containing it so no debris fell.

Eragon smiled. He clasped his hands behind his back. "Did you know, Rathon, that the lack of an aptitude for magic is indicative of one for mana?"

"No," he said simply.

"Kaealla told us that when we came here. She said, 'I gave the power of magic to some, the power of mana to others. To the descendants of those people, the power may shift to left or the right, but they will always have one or the other. It is impossible for them to no talent at all in either.' Many of our children had no talent for magic whatsoever, so I deduced that mana was were their hearts lay. And so I set them to training of that art, the only problem being, no one could teach them." He forsook his examination of the city and looked at Rathon. "If you are agreeable, I will set you to doing that; teaching those in the art that you know."

Rathon dipped his head, honored. "I will."

Eragon nodded and said, "I therefore instruct Rathon ShadowLight to go forth and train those who were once castaways in the arts of magic and raise them to be exceptional warriors."

_My Lord, _Brom said. The tone of the thought was lined with alarm. _Look!_

Eragon turned back to the window as did Rathon. In the distance, coming through the western gate, was a large group of black clothed men. And at the head of pressesion strode a bear of a man, holding a blood stained knife to the throat of a man he shoved in front of him.

Rathon's throat caught. The man was Zodion.

* * *

Eragon strode the streets towards the western gate. People parted as he came through, making a trail to the men. He spotted them fifty yards away. Zodion had his eyes cast to the skies, his jaw locked. Though his fortitude was admirable, pain was evident in his eyes. The bottom of his tunic was black with dried blood.

Eragon stopped ten feet from the men and they glared at each other like a pack of rival wolves. Finally, Eragon spoke. "Bold move, coming here in the midst of us, vastly outnumbered."

The man who held Zodion curled his lip in disgust. He said in a voice that carried an accent that was long and strange, "I will not speak to you, magician. I will speak only to the one who carries inside him what I do."

Eragon scowled. "You mean mana? Unfortunate, since you hold our best at knifepoint."

The man's eyes lowered. "You cannot lie to us, magician. I know another has come. I can smell him. Bring him here, or I will cut this man's throat like a pig's."

"Bring Rathon," he said in a lowered voice to Katelyn.

* * *

Rathon stepped around the woman who stood in his way and saw Eragon standing before the men and Zodion. The brute that held Zodion seemed to relax when he saw Rathon. Eragon gestured for him to come. Rathon came and stood at his side.

"This man insists on speaking to a manaian. And they insisted it be you. I would like you to speak for me, so that they might be appeased."

"I will," Rathon said. "What is your name?" he asked the man.

The man snarled. "Yetzvar." _Sounds like an urgal name, _Rathon thought.

"And what is it that you want?" Eragon asked. Rathon repeated his words.

The man tilted his head to the side and his neck cracked. It sounded like a stick being slammed against a wall. "You have something that belongs to us," he said. "We have something that belongs to you. I propose a trade." He prodded Zodion in the back. "This miserable scrap for her."

"And by her, you mean the leader of the Twelve?" Rathon said after Eragon told him.

"To whom else would I be referring?" the man growled. "Do we have a deal?"

Eragon closed his eyes and thought for a long while. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot repetitively. The crowd that had gathered stood in silence, waiting. Eragon's eyes flashed open and he said, "We do. First, however, I would like an answer to a question." Rathon echoed his words.

Yetzvar tightened his fist and his eyes narrowed as if annoyed. "What?"

"Why do you fight us? Why do you persecute us? What have we done to you?"

"You exist; that is your answer. Now, bring her to us."

"I am a man of my word," Eragon said and nodded to Katelyn. The two groups stood there and stared each other down until Katelyn returned. At her side was the leader of the Twelve. She looked forward, a dull expression on her face. The men all let out sighs of relief at seeing her. The girl walked forward until she stood before Yetzvar and she looked up at him.

"I was beginning to believe you were not coming," she said.

"Forgive us," Yetzvar said and they all sank to their knees. "Many men died and even more were wounded. We came as soon as we could."

"Is the life of the slave more important than that of the slave master? I dare say not. However, I proclaim it well. You lot shall not be punished. I was taken under the banner of war in an attack I instigated. You did what you could."

"Thank you," Yetzvar said and raised his head, a snarl on his lips. "Have these people done anything to you that require immediate retribution?"

Rathon saw several warriors in the vicinity grip the handles of their swords. The leader seemed also to notice. "Conceivably," she said. "However, we would be bloody scraps of meat before you could get anything done. Our advantage lies on the backs of the Garthin."

"Enough of this," Eragon said. "Release him."

As carelessly as he might toss a crusty piece of bread Yetzvar released Zodion. The man staggered forward and gripped at his stomach. Brom caught him as he was about to topple over. Zodion, his jaw tight, said, "I'm afraid not. They took us all by surprise. They smelled my power and that's the only reason I'm alive."

"And barely so, at that," Eragon commented. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Just fine," he said. He looked at Brom. "Help me lie down." Brom helped Zodion to the ground. Zodion pulled the flask that was tied around his neck out of his tunic and bit the cap to pull it off. He looked at Brom and said, "I suggest you be prepared to restrain me. Take the crystal off my hand. Whatever you do, don't let me touch this wound until it's healed." Brom undid the straps that held the crystal to Zodion's palm. Zodion took a deep breath and dipped his finger into the flask and pulled it out, a single drop hanging from it. He pulled his tunic up to show a nasty wound, a laceration that cut through his lower abdomen. By the looks of it, the wound had been inflicted to cause pain and torture, not death. The drop fell. Zodion tipped his head back and shouted. He began to thrash his arms and legs wildly, beating at himself and the ground. Brom snapped his fingers at several warriors and the men jumped forward and held Zodion down.

For almost a minute, Zodion flailed. Five times he managed to beat off one of the men holding him, but another took his place immediately. Rathon watched with bizarre interest. _So this is the price you pay for immediate healing? _Bodies blocked Rathon's view of the wound as it healed, but he knew that even as he thought that the cut was sealing up and the blood was evaporating like steam, as though it had never happened.

Finally, Zodion quieted. He lay there for some time, silent. Then he said, "Let me go before I make you," The men backed away. Zodion sat up and rubbed his stomach. No trace of the mark was left there. Zodion sighed and stood. "I'll be taking my crystal back, thank you." Brom handed it to him and he tied it back to his wrist.

"Zodion," Eragon said, looking at the leader and Yetzvar. "Rathon. They have gotten what they came here for, and we have gotten what we came here for. Would you two be so kind as to encourage them to leave?"

Zodion and Rathon raised their right arms towards the group. Yetzvar growled, as if ready to fight, but the leader put a hand on his arm. "No. Can't you smell it?" Her eyes were shadowed by the height of the man beside her, but Rathon felt as though she were looking directly at him. "They are pure breeds. Your mana is impressive, Yetzvar, but you wouldn't stand a chance going head-to-head with them." She turned and said, "We're leaving. Come now."

The group of the Twelve Tribes turned with their leader and left the city. When they were out of sight, Eragon raised Zodion's arm to the crowd and said, "Welcome back brother!" The crowd cheered loudly, but to Rathon, it sounded like he listened to it underwater. His head spun slowly and all the voices around him were muddled and confused. The only thing that was clear to his ears was the beating of his heart.

_They are pure breeds. _He thought. _They are pure breeds._

* * *

Rathon lay awake in his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking about what the leader had said, looking directly at him. It shook him to the core, not for what she had said, but what it meant.

He rose and quickly donned his clothing. He opened his door and stepped out into the cold night. Though the palace was the largest building in the city, it was left open to the wind. He hugged his arms around his chest and made his way through the rooms.

He saw two soldiers walking back and forth and hailed them. "Where could I find Zodion?" he asked them.

One of them said, "He lives in one of the lower rooms. I could take you there if you want." Rathon dipped his head.

"I would appreciate it."

The man clapped his fellow on the iron clad shoulder and struck off in an eastern direction. Rathon followed close behind. They moved quickly through the halls and for most of it the only sound was the man's boots against the floor. "Forgive my haste," the soldier said. "Eragon ordered that we be on high alert tonight." He stopped before an oak wood door that was set well below the surface. "Here you are. I'll be going then."

Rathon raised his hand to knock, but before he did he heard Zodion say, "You might as well come in. You're welcome here and I hate the sound of knocking on wood."

He opened the door and stepped inside. The room was lit only by two torches on either side of the room. It was small, only about fifteen feet at its widest. Zodion sat at a table, papers strewn before him. "Come in," he said. "You're letting the cold air in." Rathon closed the door and Zodion turned to look at him. "What do you need? I'm writing up a battle report for Eragon." Rathon rubbed his arm, trying to think of how to say this. "Is something troubling you?" Zodion asked.

"Yes," Rathon said.

"Well out with it; what is it?"

Rathon looked up and meet Zodion's gaze. Zodion lifted an eye brow and turned his chair around to face him. "A legitimate serious expression; that's rare."

"You didn't act at all surprised to see me," he stared.

Zodion shrugged. "A criminal will eventually return to the scene of his crime. Unless Galbatorix killed you, I figured you would eventually come here. And the gods know Galbatorix wouldn't kill. I mean, it was I who trained you after all."

Rathon scowled and began to pace back and forth. "Upon arrival," he said, his voice scornful. "I learned that everything I thought I knew about my lineage has been a lie. That it was a matter of simply impossibility that I was born to Eragon and Arya." Zodion's face darkened and his face adorned that emotionless quality that Brom had nailed down to a science.

"How strange," he said. "Go on."

"It troubled me at first," Rathon continued. "The typical questions: who are my parents, why did they abandon me, was I not good enough. I decided that events would happen the same way the left as the right, whether I knew or not." He stopped and looked at Zodion. "And then I captured the leader of the Twelve. Moreover, when we handed her over to get you, she said that both of us were pure breeds. The inventor of mana and magic told me that pure breeds are uncommonly rare, since once a line is distorted even once, it will never again produce a pure breed." Rathon tightened his fist and said through clenched teeth, "You are a pure breed and I am a pure breed. You must know who my parents are! I would like to know now. I've had my fill of people telling me they'll let me figure it out! It's hard to finish a puzzle when you lack some of the pieces! So tell me; who is my mother and who is my father? I want to know now, with no riddles to solve."

Zodion looked at him for a long time, his arms crossed and his eyes shaded. Rathon was about to burst out in anger when Zodion said, "Your mother, you would not know her. You wouldn't even recognize her name. I would be surprised if you even recall her face."

"Then who is my fath…" Rathon began loudly.

"I am."

* * *

**To the people who have been reading this series from day one: I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you did not see that one coming. **


	7. Father and Son, Wielders of ShadowLight

**Spaaarx: No, you'll never learn who Rathon's mother is. :) Jk, it's this chapter. **

**Funnelwebs: Can I ask you to expound on the lacking romance bit? I'd like to address that if at all possible. Personal opinion: if you have never played Skyrim or HALO multiplayer, you have never played a good videogame. Skyrim is arguably the best RPG of all time and HALO is about the best you're going to get in multiplayer if you're looking to avoid the absurdity Final Fantasy brings to the table. Not that Skyrim or HALO is real, or even necessarily likely, but again; opinion. **

**To my beta: Sorry for having to update without the edited version. I am going to be driving, for like, a hundred years for Thanksgiving with my aunt and I'm not going to be near my computer for the next week or two. So, I wanted to get it out before then. Keep up the good work; because you are awesome. :D**

* * *

The gentle breeze rustled Rathon's hair and sent the leaves of the trees swaying. The moonlight shone down on them and cast everything around them in a surreal light. Rathon stood at the base of his tree that he had gone to for days to think. Zodion stood a few feet away, looking up at the moon. Rathon could not remember ever feeling so detached from the world; as if everything that was happening was some vision from another's life.

"So," he finally said, breaking the silence that had held for almost fifteen minutes. He looked up at Zodion. "Why?"

Zodion continued to look up at the sky. "With that single word you ask a hundred questions. Be more specific."

Rathon dug his fingernails into the bark behind him. "Alright," he growled. "Why was I not good enough?"

"You have it backwards. It was not that you are not good enough; it's that you are far too good. It's that you were too good for me."

Rathon glared at his back. "A finely rehearsed position, no doubt. I imagine you've had decades to get it straight."

"You're wrong," Zodion said. "Truth be told, I never imagined you would discover this. It was a secret I intended to carry to the grave. I have given this no thought at all."

"Then explain," Rathon, his voice low. He felt anger, as he thought he would, but what astonished him is that more than anger, he felt hurt.

Zodion took a deep breath and said, "Alison. Alison is the name of your mother. She died a year after you were born."

"How," he asked, a pang resonating within him.

"Revenge of a man who was slighted by my hand."

Rathon thought back to the day he had flown to Ilirea to find it under attack. "That day when I left; the day the Black Chamber attacked," he said. "You spoke about a woman that trained you. Was that she?"

Zodion shook his head. "No. That was my mentor, but it was through her I met Alison; in a rather grim fashion." Zodion turned to Rathon and held a hand out to the base of the tree. "Sit. This may take some time." Rathon sat and Zodion sat next to him. Despite what Zodion said, they merely sat there for a few minutes before Zodion began. "I will begin where it is most appropriate; the beginning." He cleared his throat.

"I was born to the house of Nandiall, which controlled a large number of the smithies in the old city of Dras'Leona. The very best blacksmiths answered to my father. Since Dras'Leona served as the barracks for Galbatorix's army, weapons were in high demand. It seemed like, in those days, the house produced fifty swords a day when we would ordinary make that number in about two weeks. Another factor of the house Nandiall is that since its founding, there can be only one head of the house. One would imagine that would mean the eldest becomes the new head when the father dies, but that is not the way it was done. Brother was made to fight brother. When we reached the age when we could understand everything about the merchant life, which was about fourteen in our house, we were sent out to do just that. We were given a carriage, a single horse, and enough money to buy food for three days. We had to survive a year, living as a merchant. And whoever came back with the most money is made head." Zodion scowled down at the ground below. "I believe, to this day, that Aesire used Hola, or some other trick, to make himself a fortune. By the time the year was up and I had little to show of it, Aesire had amassed a supply train with twenty people working for him directly underneath him. And so, as was custom, he was made head."

"What happened to you," Rathon asked. _That's why he hates Aesire so much. _He thought.

"When one brother loses, he is cast aside as a broken sword would be. I was stripped of my Nandiall name and thrown into the streets to scratch a living as a bagger. Of course, my father kept the money I had made." Zodion punched the ground. "Self-righteous, indigent bastard," he muttered. "I don't know the story of what happened to Aesire after that. I didn't see him until I came back to Dras'Leona, years and years later, in search of Eragon. But I know what happened to me. I lived like a dog, sleeping on the streets, eating scraps of bread that were tossed in my direction, with no hope for the future. I had given up on life. One day, I was stealing food from a bakery in the city. In that time, stealing was a hanging offence and I did it almost for that reason. I was about to run away, when the woman I told you about came from behind me. I never heard her. I remember that, because it was autumn at the time and leaves lay on the ground everywhere, but I heard nothing. She told me that stealing was made necessary by my lot in life and by the indecency of others, but that I must learn to step lighter, else my life would soon meet its end." Zodion's eyes grew distant.

"Her name was Tezlee the bounty hunter. She gave me a reason to exist again. She trained me in the art of an assassin; to strike first, to never be detected, to be able to kill so silently your target would hardly know he had died. I remember she would always say to me, 'Zodion. To strike first is to strike last. The feeble wait and defend against an attack like frightened children. Inflict the fatal blow before they have the chance.'" Zodion rested his head against the tree. "Several years went by; I don't recall how many. It didn't even matter. She made me what I am and then put me to use. The two of us took missions of assassinations or theft and we completed them with the greatest of ease. All that mattered in those days was the next hunt. Then, the two of us took our twenty first hunt for Galbatorix."

"You used to work for Galbatorix?"

Zodion's eyes grew shaded. "Him before many. He had means to pay and he paid much higher for small jobs that were easy for us."

"What was the mission," Rathon said, dropping the issue. _I guess I worked for Galbatorix as well; so who am I to cast judgment? _

"Marcus Tabor, who was the lord of Dras'Leona, had stepped outside the bounds of his lordship and stepped on Galbatorix's toes. The king sent us to kill him." He sighed, his eyes deep in memory. "All went well. Marcus had only four guards. We attacked before I even looked at them. Marcus went down without a fight. He was a frail old thing. The guards, however, we trained and well skilled. It had been only a year since I had attained the shard of the crystal and I wasn't very familiar with the art of energy manipulation, or mana. So I took a cut here and a stab there. Nothing serious. Then I heard Tezlee scream. It was not a sound I have ever heard before, nor do I ever want to hear again. It caught me off guard and so the energy got away from me. The guard I was fighting was all but evaporated. I looked for her desperately. If she died, my reason to live would go with her. And I found her. Oh, did I find her. The last guard had severed her right arm. I attacked the man with everything I had. It was then that I discovered the identity of the guard. My father."

Rathon's eyes widened. "I watched as he plunged his sword into my mentor's chest." He shook his head. "It was at that moment that I loosed the mana more violently than I have ever done, before or since. In a single instant, I used my energy to cut him five thousand times." Zodion looked at his palm that held the crystal and flexed it. "If you make your energy narrow and short enough, it becomes like a blade. In that one instant, I made thousands of them and rained them down on him. The contact of our eyes never broke."

Zodion took another deep breath. "I could barely recognize that he was a human for how many pieces of him lay about. I took Tezlee and I used my mana as best I knew how to hold off the wound. I was not nearly as knowledgeable then as I am know about this art, so I all I could do was hold the wound together. I could do little more than delay. I left the city through the darkest tunnel I knew of and out into the forest. I tried everything I knew to save her; but nothing I could do would. Then, Alison appeared." The faintest of smiles appeared on his face. "She had been gathering Midnight Stalk, a flower that's petals can heal snake bite, which blooms only at night. She was a healer of Dras'Leona that used the power of mana to heal people. She tended to Tezlee until the sun came, and Tezlee lived for a short time. But the wound proved too powerful for Alison to overcome. She died a fortnight after the mission."

Zodion rubbed his forehead. "I felt lost then; like a blind man wandering a catacomb. All I knew was how to fight, to kill for the means to survive. So I began the profession of bounty hunter in Tezlee's place." He grinned, almost to himself. "Tezlee was renowned for her talents. There is a story about her amongst humans and elves; they named her the Silent Slaughter. I doubt I need to explain why. She was the best at what she did and she thought me everything there was to know. My name became known as a mercenary and I took mission after mission; each of them a success. I would always return to Dras'Leona in my spare time or time between missions to see Alison." Zodion's grew distant once more and his voice lowered. "She gave me back what I had lost when Tezlee died. I fought for her. I killed in her name. Much of the money I made went to her. My every sword thrust or energy blast was for her. Years went by. I had just returned to see Alison and I was on my way to the tavern to pick a new mission, when I saw the wanted poster for Eragon. The reward was almost double the largest I had ever seen; practically ten times the amount I had ever collected on. The hunter in me awoke and I began to track him. I watched him for almost a year; assessing his abilities and planning my strike. You can almost be sure that someone with a high a reward as he had that he would be stronger than any I had faced before. Finally, as he settled and the Varden settled in Dras'Leona to await the arrival of the elves for their final assault on the Empire, I got scared. I hadn't planned on making my move for another few weeks, in the chaos I was sure was about to unfold in Uru'baen; but with the Varden so close to Alison, I feared for her safety. So I struck."

"Aesire said that you defected to the Varden's camp."

"And that I did. Nasuada took away all need for it by offering to double the Empire's price on Eragon's head. I can't imagine how the dwarfs reacted to her using their stores of riches, no matter how open they were. But, that's beside the point. After that, the Empire fell. I was called to Vroengard and I did not see Alison for years. My every thought was about seeing her again. And so, I arranged for her to come to the island. It was not an easy thing to do. Those were the days when attempts to assassinate Eragon were common, and few were given access to the island. That night, when she came to me, was the night that you were conceived." His eyes deepened with happiness. "The day she told me was easily the happiest of my life. We decided to keep it a secret; on a whim rather than a reason. Months later, you were born." The happiness in his eyes darkened with rage. "And week after you drew your first breath, Alison was murdered by a man that I had stolen a mission from. The mission was petty; to steal a rare sword from a noblemen. The price was less than a thousand crowns." Zodion punched the ground and said, "I tracked the man who was responsible down and made him suffer for what he had done in such a way that he would never forget. I didn't kill him; that I would have been too easy. Nay, I let him suffer."

Rathon, feeling detached from the world as he was told of how his mother had been killed said, "What did you do with me?"

Zodion's eyes calmed and he looked over to Rathon. "The life of a bounty hunter is one where you make enemies in droves. You either take a mission someone else wanted or bump into them while tracking your target. I realized that the hundreds, if not thousands of men that I had 'slighted' would come for me again. I could handle any number of them, but you could not. And so I pleaded with Eragon and Arya to take you and protect you. For if any could guard you, who better but them? They agreed, though the reason to this day escapes me and Arya feigned your birth. And thus you began your life as the prince; the someday to be King. A life far more glamorous than I could have given you. Even still, it gave me the chance to be near you, watch you and train you in the art of mana when you came of age. And that is my tale," Zodion said, sighing.

Rathon sat in silence for a long time. He was happy, if anything that he now knew who is father was, but he was disappointed that he would never see his mother. Still, he was more fortunate than Eragon; who had not had the chance to call either of his parents for what they were. "My mother," he said. "What was she like?"

Zodion's eyes returned to their distant quality and he smiled. "Kind, gentle, calm, beautiful as the full moon. She would go out at midnight and fill the forests with the sound of her singing. Her hair was dark and her eyes were a delicate green. She was the first human being to make me happy just to be around her. Every other person I could pick at; find flaws that I would correct if given the chance. But not here. She was perfect."

Rathon's eye was caught by a large group of birds take off in the forest adjacent to them. When they all soared in the skies he said, "So then; why did you give me away?"

Zodion's eyebrow rose. "I would think that would be obvious. After…" he paused and swallowed. "After what happened to Alison, I feared the same for you if you continued to bear the name of Zodion's son. Bounty hunters are ruthless by nature, practically by necessity. We cannot hesitate to take a life. And if a bounty is high enough and you steal it, that's cause enough for them to start a blood war. In my time I accumulated a rather large number of enemies. Anyone of them could come for you. So I determined that, until you could handle them yourself, I would remove the need. ShadowLight was once subservient to me as well; and with it I foresaw that you would someday surpass me in skill and power. I did not intend to tell you all of this. As I said, it was a secret I intended to carry to my grave."

"But why? Why keep the truth from me?"

"Because it isn't pertinent to you. Can you honestly look me in the eye and say that who your parents are affects who and what you are in this exact moment?"

Rathon thought about it. "No, I can't. But why not tell me that you were my father and keep it a secret?"

"The only reason I told you today is because you are a full grown adult, with more power in your right arm than most men will feel in a lifetime. I only told you, because you can handle it. Back then, in the days of your youth, it would have crushed you; some strange man coming up and explaining to you that your whole life has been one big lie. And for another matter; would you have even believed me if I had?"

Rathon sighed and lifted his hands to crack his knuckles. "I doubt it. I was skeptical of all authority figures in my life then. I guess I still am. I just…don't understand."

"In some ways, Rathon, that is a good thing. For to attempt to understand everything is the truest exercise in stupidity. I have explained everything there is to tell. If you have any other inquires, pose them now."

Rathon felt embarrassed asking this, but he looked away to avoid Zodion's eye and said, "Did my mother…love me?"

Zodion smiled. "More than anything that walks the earth or flies in the air, anything above the ground or below the ocean, anything that can or cannot be seen or touched, above all things in creation or damnation. She loved you more than anything I can put words to. She loved you more than the world itself. Indeed, you were her world. That's part of the reason I choose to give you to Eragon and Arya. Who better to make a life for you? Where you would you have a better life than with them?" They sat in silence for minutes, both of them contemplating the scenery. Then Rathon's eyes narrowed.

"Wait. If you are a pure breed, as it must be the case if you are my father, then would not Aesire be one as well?"

"He is. Have you ever seen him cast a spell?"

"No. But if that's the case, why can't he use mana like we can."

"If a man wanted to become stronger of the body, why can't he start off the first day lifting ships and houses? Just because something has the potential to be something, doesn't mean it is. Mana and magic are like a muscle. The more you work them the better they become. Aesire never geared himself for the strains of mana on his body. You remember what those first three months did to you. That's why he can't use it like us." Rathon nodded. He did remember those few months at the beginning of his discipleship under Zodion. Long, intensive and agonizing training. The force to shift energy through the body was not something he had never felt before, nor had it been something he was prepared to feel. It made him sore to the point of immobility. Zodion patted his arm and said, "You are to begin teaching mana soon, are you not?"

Rathon rubbed his shoulder. "Aye. I've never taught anything, at least as far as I can remember. It's strange to stand in your shoes now. I got a look at my _pupils_," Rathon said, thinking how very strange it was to say that. "Early today."

"Be mindful of your back," Zodion cautioned. "The marks on it are still wounds until they become scars. They can reopen if you over exert your boundaries. As for your underlings: teach them well and accurately. They are the future of our defensives. You've seen how effective mana is against magic. The two mix in battle about as well as oil mixes with water. In order to have good lines of defense, we need both magicians and manaians. The old Alagaesians have the teachings of magic down to a science; they've been doing it for centuries. But mana; they are clueless."

"Why don't you teach them?"

"Because I swore an oath over your mother's grave that I would pass my talents down to you and you alone. And that is a promise that I will not dishevel under any context. However," he said, leaning back. "If you have a particularly hard time teaching one or two of them, I would consent to aid you. How long did you practice and study under me?"

"A couple a days, a couple of months, a couple of years. I don't remember. That was well over fifteen years ago."

"So it has. So it has."

Rathon stood and brushed his legs off. "Well, I should get back to sleep." Zodion stood as well and clapped his hand on Rathon's shoulder, his eyes shimmering with pride.

"The words I spoke of your mother's love for you go for me as well, Rathon. Despite your past, you have made yourself into a son I am proud of. You are a better man than I have ever been." He laughed shortly. "You can be damned sure that I would not have come and faced the music of my consequences as you did, no matter which one of my friends died. I am proud of you, Rathon; prouder than I can ever express to you. Go now, rest; knowing that you are loved by your father and that I am proud to name you my son."

Rathon went and slept. But all through the night, those words rolled through his heart and mind and he felt warmth from inside himself. _She loved you more than anything in creation. I am proud to name you my son. You are loved by your father. _

* * *

"No," Rathon said. "No, no, no." He took the apprentice's arm and held it steady. "The energy of your entire body is coming out your fingertips. In order for your strike to be precise, your arm has to be steady. How accurate would a bow be if the archer was allowing his right hand to wave back and forth?" Rathon sighed as the apprentice's arm continued to shake. "Watch me," he said. He drew himself up and raised his right arm towards the practice dummy. As he had done uncountable times he willed his strength forward, pushed it through his stomach, out through his arm, through his fingertips, and aimed directly at what he wanted affected. As though a blade had been slashed through it, the dummies head slid off. He crouched down by the boy and pushed a finger into his stomach. "You can control your energy," he said and put his thumb on the boy's arm. "You can control its flow through your body. All that is left," he said and touched the his fingers. "Is to learn to control the shakiness of your arm. Don't try and do it through a single finger," he advised. "Do it through your entire arm to start. Use the energy to still your arm if you have to. Before you know it, you'll be able to use your mana to shoot a beam of energy without a director. Keep practicing, okay?" The boy nodded and so Rathon stood and went to the next youngling.

It was a young girl with honey blonde hair and blue eyes. She was the quietest girl he thought he had ever met. She never spoke unless it was needed and when she did it was in a silent voice. Her way of speaking was also strange. It was clear, direct. If she needed help, she simply said, "I require assistance," and nothing more until you spoke. He stepped behind her to watch without disrupting. _She uses her left arm, _he thought. _Interesting. _The girl's eyes widened as the power rushed through her and out her arm. It was perfectly done until the last moment. She kept her eyes on the target, her arm still, her body in line with her aim. But at the last moment she drew back her arm. It constricted the flow of energy through her arm. Rathon snapped forward. Even as he watched her arm was beginning to expand outward like a bulge. He forced her arm straight as she began to panic and the energy escaped and her arm returned to normal. "Never let your arms bend," he said, vaguely noting how harsh his voice was. "Honestly, that's the worst mistake you can make. It constricts the energy; but with that much force it's going to find its way out. And if it can't, it'll make a new way." He ran a hand down her hair to calm her, calming him as well. "You're doing excellently. Your form was spot on perfect. You just made that error at the end. Fix that and you'll be on your way to being the best manaian in this city."

The girl rubbed her arm and said softly, "Thank you."

"If you'd like," he said, thinking about the sensation she must have just felt. "You can take the rest of the day off." She shook her head.

"No. I don't want to," she said adamantly, hearted by what he said.

He patted her on the back. "Back to work then."

He turned to the next apprentice in line and swallowed, his heart sinking. It was his would-be niece. She wore a silky dress and a scowl. Her name was Elithia. In the little time he had been around her he had gleaned that she had acquired a foul mood if she failed. Like the girl before her she had perfect form, but she had a regular habit of missing her target. She looked over at him with her dark gold eyes and said, "I keep missing. You said my aim was flawless. A hundred times I shoot and only thirty times do I hit my target. Why do I keep missing?"

Rathon sighed and went over to her, crouching down to look her in the eye. "Brom said something to Katelyn about your right eye. What was that about?"

Elithia lowered her arm and looked down at the ground. "Sometimes my right eye doesn't work, that's all."

"Of those hundred times that you shot, how many times did your eye work?"

She glared at the ground for a while, and then said, "Thirty."

"Well, there you go. Your problem is your eye, not your aim."

"Are the two not connected?"

"They are," Rathon said. "And that's part of the problem. It starts at the eye and it then turns into the aim. Because you are right handed you depend more on your right eye than your left; and it just so happens that your right eye doesn't work seventy percent of the time."

"It works," she growled. "It just doesn't come into focus sometimes."

Rathon sighed again. _Without her right eye she can't aim properly, and it only works three out of ten times. That's a dismally low success rate. But when it does work, she's the best of my underlings. In battle, though, what good is a soldier that can only swing a sword thirty percent of the time? _An idea occurred to Rathon. "Try it again," he said. She looked up at him, irritation prevalent in her eye. "But this time," he said, putting a hand over her right eye. "Rely on your left eye."

Elithia stood still for a minute, seeming surprised. Then she raised her arm and shot out at her target. A hole was driven through its chest, dead center in the red painted bullseye. Elithia turned her arm and shot again, driving a hole in another apprentice's target. Again and again she fired, hitting her mark every time. Ten times she fired off her mana and at the end there were ten new holes in the practice targets. She stopped and smiled up at him.

Rathon tore a strip of cloth from his leggings and tied it around her head, wrapping it around her right eye. "If you are ever in battle or in training, wear something over your eye if you can manage it. If you can't focus on keeping your right eye closed. Your mana is perfect, Elithia. I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone told me that you were a pure born. You just need to cast off that which slows you down."

* * *

**So there you have it. Another giant plot twist explained for you. I'll be totally honest; I am surprised I didn't catch any flack for how Rathon could use energy manipulation, but no magic, and the mirror opposite with Brom. Anyways; have a good Thanksgiving. Now I have to go drive for seven hours. Wish me luck!**


	8. The Art of Mana

**Are you ready...for the biggest...update in the history of ever? THREE CHAPTER UPDATE!**

* * *

The darkness around Rathon was palpable. He lay against a tree in the forest, the midnight full moon shining down from above. He looked up at the stars through the trees, silently contemplating everything that had had happened in the past few days. The wind swayed the leaves of the branches above him, making rustling noises all around him, but he still heard it.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "Don't be afraid to show yourself. Unless you first strike, I mean you no harm. What meaning is there to life if you live it in the shadows?" The sound came again. He opened his eyes and saw the dark figure standing beside a tree a few yards away. Rathon tapped his ears. "One of the powers unique to a pure breed is the ability to amplify the five senses with mana. I can hear the grass crunching under your feet. You did well to hide your breath, the sound of your heart, and the distortion of noise from your presence. But the earth cries out under your weight, and that is a shout you cannot silence."

The Leader of the Twelve Tribes emerged from the shadows. She wore cloths of snow white and her hair reflected off the moon like a pool. Her golden eyes seemed dull, as though she were bored. "Do you not know the dangerous of these woods during the full moon?"

"Evidently they are that of young innocent girl. Forgive me for daring to brave such terrors." He said, and closed his eyes once more. She was silent for so long that he thought she had left. Then he heard her sit down beside him.

"Teach me," she said.

He opened his eyes and looked over at her. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Teach me to use mana." She starred at him intently the whole while that she spoke.

Rathon sat up. "You're a Grey Folk. That race created every other. You're practically Gods. Can't you just will yourself to know it?"

"I can will myself to understand mana as much as you can will yourself to be masterful of magic." Her eyes drifted up for a moment, and then she said, "A poor analogy. My sister gifted me with mana, but she never taught me in it. You are a pure breed, one of the last few remaining alive and conscious of their free will. Your master, Zodion, will not teach me, nor will my sister."

"As far as Zodion goes, I doubt he'd teach you because your men ripped a hole in his stomach. And as his old student, I can say first hand that he is not one to forgive an old wound. And your sister, perhaps she won't because you led many of her people away from her."

"It is conceivable," she replied. She looked Rathon in the eye and he felt pierced by her golden gaze. "But you bare no ill will of me. I have never done anything to harm you."

"You attacked those I care for," he commented.

"You will note that that battle was lost. And for that fight I shall not apologize. It was an attack that needed to be made."

"So why not just go back to your sister and beg her to teach you?"

"Because she has yet to equip her allies to fight; why would she help her enemy?"

"All these problems seem to have one simple solution: stop being her enemy."

The girl looked back to the ground. "I cannot. I have sworn myself to the cause of the Tribes. They look to me for their revenge."

Rathon lifted an eyebrow. "Per my curiosity, what happened to ignite your hatred of the Alagaesians? I don't have any knowledge of the Tribes attacking Kaealla a single time, but their strikes on the Alagaesians seem endless. What did they do?"

The Leader looked up to the stars and they reflected themselves in her eyes. Her voice remained calm as she said, "Our anger is for the lack of Kaealla's. Those from the other land left her; abandoned her for what they thought to be a brighter future. We, who stayed at Kaealla's side, refused to follow the path of our ignorant brothers and sisters. Yet, when the ones who slighted Kaealla returned, she gave them land that was ours and support in building their city. We do not understand it, so we seek the Alagaesians demise. Kaealla was hurt; our mother was hurt. And she refused to go to action. So we resolved to go to action for her." She returned her gaze to Rathon. "And I was chosen to take up the forefront as Leader. There are few in this world that can claim to be pure born of mana; but even fewer can say they are but cannot use it. Your worst apprentice knows a hundred fold more than I do." She turned to him. "You, Zodion, Aesire and I are the last remaining four pure breed manaians in the world. Because of that you are, without argue, the best and most powerful manaian in the world, Rathon. Zodion would bend his knee if you struck at him; Aesire has not trained in it since the day he was born. And I, the last pure breed born of Alalea, could not use mana to lift a drop of water. I could not explain the first step to the process. Yet, the Tribes rely on me." She turned back to the way she had been siting. "The day you handed me over for Zodion, do you know why I ordered my men to stay their hands? Because two pure bloods stood before us and the only one who could match their potential was me; and I am as knowledgeable about it as an ant. I was frightened to appear weak before my men." The girl looked up at the sky and sighed. "Have you ever felt that someone looks on you and expects far more than you can deliver?"

Rathon thought back to the days when he was an apprentice rider, when he was taught under Aesire. How every day Katelyn and Brom outstripped him in progress, power and knowledge. How it had eventually prompted him to stop trying magic and to side with the strength that Zodion promised him. How weak he had felt for so long standing beside Brom and living in his shadow. And how even despite the obvious and abundant evidence to the contrary, Eragon continued to expect Rathon to grow into a powerful mage. Rathon looked down to his palm. "Yes, yes I have. It was terrible and it made me into the worst version of myself." He thought about it for a long while and finally said, "Very well, I'll teach you. But you have to do as I say, when I say it. And no more attacks on the city, at least as long as I train you." Rathon turned to the girl and his heart skipped a beat as she took his head in her hands and kissed him. It was not a long one of passion, but a brief contact of their lips. He recoiled and said loudly, "What are you doing?"

The girl tilted her head. "Affirming myself as your student. It is always done. You have another custom?" Rathon rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. He tasted something similar to cherries.

"Not that, I can assure you," he said.

The girl frowned. "Then how do you commemorate the assuming of your titles; as master and disciple?"

"For now, why don't we just stick to you referring to me as, 'Teacher,' or, 'Master.'?"

The girl pursed her lips and said, "How banal." She dipped her head until it touched the ground and said, "However, as you wish, Master."

"Get up," he insisted.

The girl sat up and looked at him expectantly. "May we begin?"

"I'll first know what your name is."

"My full and given birth name is Sihden Eli'vatra Kasteliia. However, you may call me Sihden."

* * *

Rathon put a hand on his stomach. "The core of mana comes from the stomach. It is the center of your energy and from it you can summon your power. All energy, when used as mana, passes through the stomach. There are seven points that it can exit the body, at which point it becomes mobile to your will: the tips of your fingers and toes, your head, your stomach, your chest, your arms and your legs. Those seven can be broken down to three key areas that are the easiest to use and get the energy through. Those are the arms, the chest and the head. Those three are easiest; you'll find them much easier to channel your strength through. I prefer to use my right arm, and tip of my first finger on my right hand if I need to be precise."

"What is the difference between the entire arm and the fingers," Sihden asked.

"I'm getting to that. Each of these seven can allow a certain amount of energy to escape in a set amount of time. For instance, I can send out more mana through my arm than I can through my small toe. The only problem with that is that the more you send out, the harder it is to control. The stomach is capable of sending out a simply gargantuan quantity of energy; it could probably send out every ounce of your strength in under fifteen seconds, but good luck controlling all of that force at once. However, if you channel it through your arm; it has much less of a punch, but it is far more precise and you can control it. The arm is the point that can expel the most power with the most control. That's why it's my preferred weapon."

Sihden raised her right arm out to a nearby tree. "How do I summon it?"

"Concentrate. Focus your mind on the center of your stomach. You manipulate the energy with your will. Command it and it will serve you. From the stomach, focus on the path leading out to the exit point." Sihden narrowed her eyes in concentration. Her golden eyes were fierce as she ground her teeth together. "Now," Rathon said. "Force it out into the physical world."

A moment before she did, Rathon felt the overflow of force from her arm. It was like an explosion waiting to happen. Time seemed to slow to a tenth's its normal speed. Rathon leapt forward as he felt the energy from Sihden enter the world and move to its target. _Blast it all, _he thought. The energy had not been nearly focused enough and as soon as it reached its target, Rathon knew from personal experience, that it would explode outward. Rathon ran in front of Sihden and raised his arms out. An instant later, a ravaging blast of energy swept the immediate area. Trees bent over from the force and plants were ripped out of the ground. Rathon stood his ground, withholding the blast with a shield wall made of his own mana. When it died down he lowered his arms and sighed, looking back at Sihden. She, for the first time since he first saw her, had an expression on her face: one of shock and fear.

"Did…I do that?"

Rathon sat down, his arm wobbly. Stopping a burst like that, from even a novice, was unpredictably hard. "Yes. Next time, you need to give greater stock in your concentration. You can make the field of the effect of your mana wide, but not so much that you forsake direction." He rubbed the side of his head and said, "What you just did is called a burst; albeit a roundabout one. Ordinarily you center your efforts on one focal point and then 'burst' your mana out, causing an explosion. But the area of focus needs to be less than three inches; otherwise you can't control all the mana at once and mayhem is the result. You're lucky the target you choose was as narrow as it was."

Sihden touched his arm. "You made a shield? Is that what caused this?"

Rathon looked down at his arm and winced. It was covered in a blotchy bruise. He nodded. "It's possible for a knowledgeable manaian to create a wall out of his own mana, by which nothing can pass if the caster's strength holds out. But just like a physical shield, it leaves its mark. I don't recommend you give it a go. It requires at least a proficient control of mana once it's in the physical world; which we haven't even touched upon."

Sihden looked sharply to the forest as a horn echoed out. She stood abruptly and listened. Another four times the call echoed. "Those are my men," she said. "They felt the burst." She looked back down at him with that golden soul piercing gaze. "May we continue this another time? It would be unbecoming if you were caught out here with me; for either of us. But there still much more I wish to know."

Rathon nodded his head and said, "Aye. Come back here at midnight four nights from now."

* * *

"Are you alright," Katelyn asked. "You're acting very out of place."

They sat side by side in the throne room of Eragon, having an evening meal with the town's people. Eragon and Arya sat on their thrones, conversing with several people. Brom, Nayter and two children, one of whom Rathon knew, sat a few seats down from him. He smiled slightly to himself as he saw Elithia, for she wore the strap of cloth he had given her around her bad eye. A hearty fire crackled in on either side of the room, warming the groups of people that chatted beside them. Rathon was full, warm, surrounded by pleasant company. The only thing negative about his current surroundings was that he was extremely tired. Constant training in the mana arts, to his apprentices and to Sihden, had worn on him in the past week.

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine."

"Are you tired from all the teaching you've been doing? If you recall I did a fair bit of that back on Vroengard, so I would well understand."

He smiled wearily. "Aye, that's part of it, I suppose." He reached up and rubbed the back of his head. "Mana is energy and it is therefore a concussive force, so after a while of being around it you start to get a headache."

She smiled for a moment, and then her eyes grew more serious. "How do you feel about Zodion?"

Rathon pushed his tongue against the side of his cheek. After he had told Rathon, and since the original reason for it had been rendered meaningless, Zodion and Rathon had let their relation be known throughout the city. "I'm happy about it," he said, nodding. "Above all else I'm happy about it. I feel angry that Zodion hid it from me, but honored to have him as a father."

Katelyn's eyes softened. "That's good to hear. I felt hurt for you when Eragon…"Katelyn stopped as Brom walked up behind her. She looked back at him, a guarded expression in her eye. "Yes?"

Brom acknowledged her for only an instant before he looked to Rathon. Rathon heard Brom's words echoed in his mind; his old brother's sole means of communication. _Elithia says that you are the one who told her to wear that strap of cloth around her eye. _

"That I did."

_Why? It looks ridiculous._

"Her eye doesn't come into focus most of the time; and since she is right handed she relies on her bad eye to aim. Because of that she misses far more than she hits her target; so much so that she would be a liability on the field of battle."

Brom narrowed his eyes. _She is the daughter of a prince. She cannot walk around the city with a strap around her eye like a child. _

"I can teach her how to become ambidextrous in her eye sight, Brom. I cannot teach her how to aim with something that does not work. If it suits your fancy, send her into battle without it, and watch as she hits her allies as much or more than her enemies. My job as her mentor is to make sure she reaches her maximum potential; which she has much of. But her right eye is slowing her down. And so, I removed it."

Brom glowered down at him. _Cannot she just wear the eye patch during a battle then?_

"Sure, if you want her to have no practice in it when she does. But, by having her not use her right eye now, when she is in no danger, she will be able to use it masterfully when she needs to."

Brom glared at him for a moment more, then spun around and strode away, his cape flowing out behind him. Rathon watched him go and sit back down beside Nayter. Elithia said something to him and he put a hand on the strap over her eye. He stopped and scowled for a moment, then took his hand away.

Rathon sighed and yawned, stretching his arms overhead. While he did the door to the room opened and a girl's voice called, "They're back! They're back!" He heard Katelyn gasp. He opened his eyes and saw her getting up excitedly. She went around the table and outside, along with many of the people in the room. Rathon got up and followed, curious. Outside many people grouped around a small number of ironclad warriors, dried blood on their armor. Because of the mass of people he didn't get a good look at any of them. Rathon turned his head as he heard chuckling. Eragon leaned against the door frame, smiling. "I was beginning to worry they would never return." One of the soldiers pushed their way through the crowd, shoving people out of the way when needed. A woman, so covered in blood that he could not tell the color of her skin, stopped before Eragon and knelt. Eragon lifted his chin and said, "Do not stand on ceremony here. Your penance is given by the blood you wear, brave warrior. Rise and report."

The woman stood and looked back at her fellows. "Some of my men need immediate medical attention."

Rathon's heart lurched. Though he could not see the woman's features, he recognized her voice, and a slow morbid fear ran down his spine. Eragon snapped his fingers and called, "Healers!" Several black shrouded men stepped forward into the slew of people. "Now, before you give your report, I'll first see your face not covered in gore," he said to the woman.

A small boy ran up and handed the woman and drenched cloth. She took it and ran it over her face. Rathon swallowed past the lump in his throat, his suspicion confirmed. Naydel handed the rag back to the boy and looked back to the king. It was then that she seemed to notice Rathon. A wild fury leapt into her eyes and she drew her blade. With a battle cry that chilled his blood she jumped forward, bringing the blade down towards him with speed that astounded him. A metallic twang echoed through the hall as her sword was stopped dead in its tracks. Rathon looked down and saw the majestic blade of Calibor blocking Naydel.

"That's enough," Eragon said. "Naydel; put away your weapon. Rathon is one of us once more."

To Rathon's surprise Naydel dipped her head and withdrew her sword, sheathing it. Rathon looked over to Calibor, who was putting away his weapon as well. "Thanks are in order, I suppose."

Calibor stated bluntly, "Considering that I just stopped her from slicing you open like a dead fish, I should say so. Pay no heed to it. I just happened to be coming this way and saw an open display of violence."

"Your report," Eragon said to Naydel.

She dipped her head and said, "We sat in wait for almost a week near the gorge. The convoy took longer than suspected and so we almost ran out of food. But on the first night of the new moon they came to us. It was as you had predicted. Two hundred and fifty of them, all moving through the forest at night. It was a tough battle, but the gorge worked in our favor and we were victorious."

Eragon nodded, smiling. "Well done. How many men did you lose?"

The left side of Naydel's mouth curved up into a smile. "Not a single one. I return every one of your warriors to you; shaken, but standing."

Eragon's eyebrows rose. The crowd was silent, waiting for what Eragon would do. Finally, Eragon raised his arms and began to clap. The crowd quickly followed suit and the halls echoed with the thunder of applause. When it died down Eragon said, "Praise be upon you, Naydel daughter of Cecile. You have accomplished a task I did not count among the possible. Remind me; it has been more than a month since you departed. How many men did you leave with?"

Naydel dipped into a bow, her right hand over her breast. "I left here with five hundred thirty four, my Liege; some born of the arcane arts, others baring only the strength of their backs and their sword arms. But every single one fought with the sole drive to protect their homes and family. I dare say I have never had the honor to wage battle alongside such sturdy men as they. Every one of them proved their metal beyond that of the common man. I can only hope that I die alongside such brave souls as theirs."

Eragon clapped her on the shoulder. "You shall be rewarded for your accomplishment. For now, go and rest. No man has won as many battles as you, and no has even touched upon the victory you have proclaimed this day. You have proven yourself capable to wield a sword, shoot a bow and command men in even the direst circumstances. I ask nothing more from my war generals."

Naydel's eyes widened. "My King, I…"

"You are hence forth stripped of your title as Captain, Naydel daughter of Cecile. In that title's place, I promote you to the position of war general. I name you commander of our remaining twenty legions."

Naydel seemed too stunned to react. After a moment she dipped into a bow and said, "I thank you with the highest calls of praise, your Majesty."

Eragon took a step back and placed a hand on her brow. "Do not thank me for what you have done. Go and sleep now. You are tired and tomorrow you dine at my right hand."


	9. Answers to Questions Old

Sihden slid her foot across the ground, giving her a more stable stance. She slowly looked around the clearing, waiting in silence for what she knew would come. Her weeks of training under Rathon had sharpened her ears to the subtle sounds that would mark the attack. The wind slowly rustled the trees. All was still throughout the clearing and it seemed as though she were alone. Her senses tingled on edge, each of them stretched to the limits of their prowess in order to detect the attack that would soon be launched against her.

Like a spear the mana came flying at her from one of the trees of the forest, focused and direct. Sihden widened her stance once more and opened her palms out to the attack, summoning the energy to the tips of her fingers. As the mana struck she dissolved it, separating energy and the direction's its owner had given it, so that it dispelled like water. It was a complex process and one that required her full concentration. When the attack ceased and quiet reigned in the forest once more, she heard a soft impact on the ground nearby. She turned sharply, prepared to defend herself once more.

Rathon straightened up from his landing and stretched. Sihden lowered her guard. "How did that feel?" he asked her.

"Strange," she said, rubbing her right arm. "Correct; but strange."

"Comfort will come with use. You blocked my attack well. There is room for improvement, but you have done well."

Sihden raised her hand to eye level and looked at it for a moment. "Master," she said. "I wish to learn how to use the pulse."

Rathon's eyes sharpened. "It took me years of discipleship to one of the best manaians in the world before I was competent enough to summon that power. It would be needlessly risky to attempt it now." Rathon tightened his fist and then relaxed and stretched it, then repeat that motion again. "A pulse is generated by a manaian sending the exact same quantity of energy out the seven points and then expanding it outward, supplying each point with the same amount of energy and expanding it at the same rate. If either of those two requirements is not meet in perfect equilibrium, your body will be ripped apart, because one by one the seven points losses control and wreaks havoc on your body. As I told you before, each point as its own capacity for energy discharge and the level at which you can control it. So, it should be easy to understand why it is extremely difficult. You need to be no less proficient than a master to successfully pull it off; with extensive training and understand of each of the seven points in order to do it. And even once you do that, the range at which a pulse is effective is limited at best."

The light of the moon disappeared for a moment as a dragon flew overhead. Rathon looked up, but the darkness of night hid the creature from sight. He looked back down, to warn Sihden, but she was not there. Rathon looked back up, just in time to watch the azure bulk of Zacaid crash to the ground. Rathon bit the side of his lip as the creature settled down to let its rider off. _Could there be a worse person to find me here? _

Brom stepped around Zacaid's leg and approached him. He looked around for a moment and then Rathon heard him speak in his mind. _Strange place to be this late at night. _

"I am a free citizen," Rathon replied. "I am free to go where I wish."

_True. However, given your past, it would be inappropriate to say that you can do that with any level of expectation of privacy. _

"So, you've been following me?"

_I saw someone leave the city in the wee hours of night and I took interest. _Brom placed a hand on his chest. _I too am a free citizen and by your own admission, I may go where I like. _

Rathon leaned against a rock and said, "I am simply out here to enjoy the moon. With my teaching I hardly get the chance to do much of anything by myself. You're more than welcome to join me if you like."

Brom scowled. _Where is Leonis?_

"Went off hunting with some other dragons. He didn't know where he was allowed to hunt, so he had to go and find out so that he didn't upset Kaealla's followers."

Brom scanned the forest, his sharp eye dissecting every shadow for evidence of life. _Are you alone? _

"No. You're here."

Brom's eyes flicked to him with a glare. _You are a child. _

Rathon put a hand on his chest. _Always have been. _

With a final search Brom turned and went back to Zacaid's side. _I'll be watching you. _

"Good to know someone will be watching my back." Rathon replied.

Zacaid uttered a low growl at Rathon while Brom mounted him. When his rider was situated, the blue dragon leapt into the skies with a prodigious roar.

The sound of scuffling grass came from the trees. Sihden emerged from the shadows and watched Zacaid fly away. "Strange that the Garthin would call the dragons their twins. I cannot think of any two creatures more polar opposites than they. The dragons which project a majestic appearance, but when needed are the most fearsome beasts in creation. And the Garthin; cloaked in the shroud of fear and despair, able to embody the culmination of their prey's fears, but the most gentle and loving creatures I have ever known." She lowered her eyes to Rathon. "I'm afraid our training together has met its conclusion, upon the stipulation you set forth that there would be no attacks made on your home during it; which is a requirement I can no longer abide by. From hence forth, we are no longer teacher and student."

Rathon narrowed his eyes. "Does that mean that there will be an attack soon?"

Sihden ran a hand through her hair and tucked a patch of her locks around her ear. "Yes. I wish to thank you Rathon, for teaching me what you have. It means very much to me. I am in your debt" As she turned to walk back into the darkness Rathon reached out to her.

"Wait," he said.

She looked back at him. "Yes, Rathon?"

"If you are in my debt, answer me a question. What did you mean when you spoke about the Garthin?"

"Please elaborate your question, so as not to squander it."

"The day I captured you," he said, clenching a fist. "I made eye contact with one of them. In that single moment I saw everything that frightened me. It was the most terrifying thing I have ever seen. What was that? What are the Garthin?"

Sihden closed her eyes for a moment and said, "Your worst nightmare." She turned back to him. "The Garthin are born like reptiles; in that they are born by their mother laying eggs. From the day that they hatch they are taught by their sires to bend their minds into weapons. By the time they turn four, they can break into their victims or preys mind without confronting any defensive measures they may have. They become so nimble in their thoughts that they can circumvent any defense. Once there they target the section of the mind dedicated to fear, extract that knowledge and then embody it. They use their minds to manipulate the senses of their prey to make them see, feel, smell, and hear their worst fears. The Garthin takes the form of its prey's worst fear for no other reason than that is what the prey sees. They do this in matter of a second or less. It gets to the point that they do it unintentionally. It is the way in which they defend themselves, attack, and respond to any worldly event around them. That is what the Garthin are. Literally, your worst nightmare."

"Where did they come from? I've never heard tale or legend about them."

Sihden's eyes widened in shock. "You…you mean you don't know?"

Rathon frowned. "How could I? I was born in Alagaesia, and I assure you there were none there. And I just said that I have never heard tell of them."

Sihden ran a hand down her dress, soothing it, forcing her face to calm. "When I defected from Kaealla, and made an alliance with the Barbarians, they gave them to us. They would be better suited to tell you the Garthin's origin."

Something about her response pricked at Rathon's nerves. "But you do know, don't you? You do know where the Garthin come from."

A sly smile slid across her face. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. From what I have learned about you, Rathon, it would be best if you do not delve into the Garthin. When, where, how and by whom they came to be could prove to be damaging to you." As though summoned the darkness of a cloud drifted over the moon and concealed Sihden. When it passed, the girl was gone.

Rathon stood alone in the center of the clearing, staring off into the woods. He closed his eyes and exhaled from his nose. "Stop making everything a riddle."

* * *

Rathon started as someone put a hand on his shoulder. The dying crackling of the fire filled his ears as he came back to awareness. He sat up and winced as the vertebrae on his back cracked from being in the same position for so long. The room was dark, but for the embers of the fire. Leonis' gentle breathing as he slept came from his bed in the center of Rathon's room. He turned his head with a crack and yawned.

Elithia stood at his side. The strap he had seen on her so often was no longer there. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders and back in brown waves. She wore a crimson dress that stretched to her ankles.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You're still asleep," she said.

"Not anymore, I'm afraid," he responded. "Why is it that strange?"

She looked back towards the door and Rathon only then noticed the full sunlight coming through it. She looked back at him and said, "The others and I have been waiting for you for almost a half hour. I was sent to come get you."

Rathon groaned as he realized he had overslept. He stood and followed her out the door, wincing at the light on his unaccustomed eyes. He and Elithia began the long walk to the training area on the other side of the city. While they did she spoke to him about her considerable progress in her training ever since he had told her to cover her right eye. As they passed by the palace entrance someone called Rathon's name. He looked up to the painfully white steps and saw Katelyn and Eragon near the center. He patted Elithia on the back. "Go on," he said. "I'll be right there."

"We've been waiting for almost an hour," she complained.

"The King is not to be ignored. Go on." She sauntered off, mumbling. Rathon ascended the steps to Eragon and Katelyn and dipped his head. "Yes, Sire?"

"Brom reported to me that you were out in the forests late last night. Judging by the dark spots under your eyes, I would dare say there is validity to his report. However, in the interest of fairness, I wanted to hear what you had to say about it."

"I was out in the forests last night; yes."

"For what?" Katelyn asked. "The forest is extremely dangerous at night. Garthin's, Barbarians, the Twelve. Any number of dangerous creature."

"He is still new to our world, Katelyn," Eragon said. "Although, I would like to know what prompted you out into the wilderness."

"There is much on my mind, Eragon," Rathon said. "I rarely have such an opportunity to simply sit and think as I did last night. So I seized it."

Eragon examined him for a long moment. Then finally he said, "There is a curfew in the city of sun fall to be inside. There is a punishment for ignoring it without cause, but since you are still new to this life, I will overlook it. I suppose it is partially my fault for not telling you. Don't be out past the sun's fall. Like Katelyn said, it is very dangerous."

Rathon dipped his head. He wouldn't need to, anyways. "Is there anything else, Sire? My apprentices are waiting for me; since I overslept."

"Yes, there is. I wanted to tell you that Kaealla will be coming for a feast tonight."

_Why would he want me to know that? _"Alright."

"I want you to be there, at the feast, by my left side."

Rathon lifted an eyebrow. "If I may ask, why?"

"As you know, Naydel was recently promoted to war general and commander of the remaining twenty legions of our armed forces."

"I'm surprised I haven't heard any complaints from her about that," Katelyn commented. "You gave Tetzar thirty five, and her only twenty. That's a main difference of around fifteen thousand."

Eragon turned to her. "There are only a hundred legions in our army, Katelyn. I gave her what I had left. However, rest assured, if she continues to perform as she has; above and beyond any sane expectation, I have a feeling she'll be getting a promotion again in the near future." He smiled as he said, "I don't know what pushes her, but that girl has fire in her the likes of which I have never seen in any commander I have served under or ordered." He looked back at Rathon. "You did well by picking her from the crowd, Rathon. She has saved more souls over the past ten years then I can recall. She fights with the savagery of a berserker, the logic and forethought of a master strategist, and the ability to rally and command men like a general who has won a thousand wars. She, above all others, I would consider the crown gem of our army. The most fearsome force we have to pit against our foes. A nightmare to all who call us their enemy." He waved a hand through the air. "But, I digress. Rathon is needed elsewhere." The king redirected his gaze to Rathon.

"Zodion is among the number of those remaining twenty legions. Naydel has predicted that a group of Barbarians is moving across the snowy mountains. She has sent a goodly number of her forces out to deal with them. In her nine years of military service, one of those hunches has never gone array. In the meantime, Kaealla is coming her for a stately visit." His eyes grew shaded as he looked off into the distance of Kaealla's home. "I have questions nagging at the back of my mind that have not ceased troubling me for over twenty years. Given the things that have recently come to light, I have reason to believe that she has the means to answer those questions. I would like that you be present for it. A pure breed manaian such as you would serve well to the conversation."

"As you wish," Rathon said, after a moment of thought. "When should I be there?"

"An hour prior to dusk."

* * *

Rathon watched a few feet behind Netii as she struggled to summon the energy. She was a young girl, his youngest apprentice, no older than ten. _It will be a long time before I or any other let's her ride into battle, _he thought. Still, she expressed interest and promise in the art of mana and little to none in the magic. As such she had been placed in his care, a good two years younger of age than he would have otherwise allowed.

He watched her with detached observance; watching, but not paying attention. His mind was filled with thoughts about Kaealla's impending visit. _What could be so important that Eragon would personally request that I be there? What does he mean to ask her? _

"Master," came the small voice. He looked down to Netii. She was looking up at him, a concerned look in her eye. "Are you well?"

He smiled and put a hand on her head. "Perfectly," he said. He looked back to the practice target and his eyebrows rose. Thirteen distinct holes marked its form. Some of them overlapped, and others were so close to the edge that it only formed a half circle, but the fact still remained. "Well done," he said. "Your aim is true." A bright smiled spread on the girls face and she turned back to her target, a pleased determination about her. Rathon turned and said, "Keep going. Your energy will become subservient to you over time."

* * *

Rathon sat in a high backed chair at the right hand of the throne of the King, garbed in white and black silk robes. A circlet of silver was strung around his head. Seated before him was a large crowd of people, seated in nine tables that stretched a hundred feet each. Though it was packed, a full table was left aside for the coming guests. Eragon sat in his throne, dressed in the colors of a King. His crown rested on his head, his sword at his side. An air of power an authority adorned him. Arya sat on the other side of Eragon, equally clothed in majesty. Her raven hair was left loose and free, almost obscuring the crown on her head.

Rathon looked down at the palm of his hand, at the cloth on his arm, the colors of which were meant to represent ShadowLight. It was strange to him, to wear that. He had not used it since Galbatorix took it from him a decade ago. Rathon became aware of a man standing behind him. He knew, without looking, that it was Calibor. He seemed to have a talent for suddenly appearing.

The doors to the throne hall opened with the blare of trumpets. Eragon and Arya stood and Rathon hastened to do likewise. As graceful and majestic as deer, Kaealla and her people entered the room. Kaealla was dressed in a golden dress that fell behind her for a good yard. She walked with her staff in hand, the end of which sent a _thud _through the air each time it impacted the ground. Eragon and Arya's presence was powerful, but it was a dwarf before Kaealla's. The very presence of a God seemed to be hers. She stopped before the throne and dipped her head to Eragon and Arya. They did likewise, but when Kaealla's eyes fell on Rathon, he fell into a bow at the waist. He felt it appropriate. She smiled softly at him.

"Greetings and salutations, Kaealla Kasteliia. Welcome to our home."

"Thank you, King Eragon." She looked back at her people and tapped her staff against the ground, sending another _thud _through the air. Without a word they dispersed throughout the room and began to seat themselves wherever they may and talk with the people in the room. Kaealla returned her attention to Eragon.

"I trust that your travels went uneventfully." Eragon said.

"To the contrary," Kaealla replied. "We were attacked by a group of Barbarians riding upon Garthin."

One of Eragon's eyebrows rose. "Strange. I've not heard tale of them riding on the backs of those beasts."

"Nor have I. I have never attempted peaceful communications with those ruffians. I allow them to live only for the risk that attacking them would bring on my people."

Eragon nodded. "You are a good leader. You shall have our aid if ever you decide to dispose of them."

"I thank you. But if that was a gambit I made, I would make it only with the lives that were given to my cause, not sworn to it by a foreign commander. I do not mean to cause offence. Now then, I would like to eat. I am famished."

"Of course," Eragon said. He clapped his hands and called out, "Bring forth food and wine! Let us feast!"

The hours dissolved into a swirl of food and drink, talk and games. Calibor went to eat beside Kaealla at the end of the table facing the thrones. Food was brought to Rathon and he ate in his chair, silently waiting for what he knew was bound to come. But still the hours rolled by. It was not until well after midnight when Eragon finally moved. The room was loud with the sound of music and song when Eragon stirred from his seat and said in a booming voice, "Kaealla. I would speak with you." The room quieted. Kaealla looked up from her food, set down her knife, wiped her mouth and said, "Then do so."

Eragon relaxed again. "You say, and I have come to believe you, that you are Grey Folk, those who the stories tell as Gods. Maker of Magic, Creator of Mana, Inventor of the Three Spells and Crafter of Humans. Those are your names and they are powerful ones. I can think of no one else who could answer me this question."

"Before telling you the answer, I must first know the question," she said.

"Years upon years ago, I and my friend defeated Galbatorix. It was with your Spell with which he was bound. Before the final blow was landed, I struck out at his mind. He was weak, so I got through. A day does not go by that I wish I had not. What I say was the face of a demon; evil incarnate. What I felt was terror the likes of which I would not wish upon my worst enemy. I don't know if it was one of the Grey Folk, a devil or some unknown beast that stalks that land. But what I hold no doubt of is this: it was not a man. I know that it is so powerful that it could command one of your own, Echothain, to abide its will. You are as old as time and the forces of the heavens and the earth answer to you. You have the power to give and take away the ability to command the world. Who else but you would know what Galbatorix is? So I pose that question to you: do you have knowledge of what Galbatorix is?"

Kaealla stared him down for a long moment of absolute silence. Then she gripped her staff and said, "This is a conversation that shall be held in private."

"Whatever you have to say to me, you can say before my people," Eragon replied, leaning forward.

Kaealla looked back up at him. "I shall rephrase, for I was evidently misunderstood. We shall have this conversation in the privacy of a sound proofed room, or not at all. It is your decision, Eragon. Learn the answer to this question in privacy, or remain ignorant in company."

Eragon's eyes darkened. He stood with a flow of his cape and said, "This way."


	10. The Enemy Unveiled

The bolt to the door clanged shut, echoing throughout the entire palace. Eragon placed a hand on the door and murmured for a silent moment, then turned and sat in his chair, resting his head in his hand. "Our words our guarded from even the sharpest eared spy," he said. "Now we may have this 'conversation' which you spoke of."

Rathon squirmed uncomfortably in the corner of the room. He felt out of place; like he shouldn't be there. Calibor stood behind Kaealla, facing Rathon. The man looked at him for a short moment, but in the end gave his attention to the goings on. Katelyn and Brom stood at either side of the table, observing, but not speaking. Arya had remained in the feast hall to assure that there would be no followers.

Kaealla smoothed her dress as she sat. She locked eyes with Eragon and said, "Ask what you will."

"Do you know what Galbatorix is?"

Kaealla shook her head. "A poor question." Eragon scowled and opened his mouth to speak when Kaealla continued. "A better one would be: do I know what exists inside of him? And that is something that I do know."

Eragon relaxed in his chair and waved a hand. "Then please, let your answer be heard."

Kaealla did not break eye contact with him. "Are you sure that you wish to know this?"

"Yes, I am," Eragon said.

Kaealla leaned forward. "I will warn you only once more. Divert from this path and you can live the rest of your days out here in peace. Continue down this road and everything you love today will be cast into jeopardy. Are you determined, beyond any convincing, to know this?" Her words had gravity to them that frightened Rathon.

Eragon too leaned forward and with bravery that astounded Rathon he said, "More than twenty years ago I witnessed the most horrifying thing I have ever seen. I cannot even put words to it. A vision so menacing that it haunts me to this day and I am sure that it will not stop troubling me to the moment I take my last breath. I cannot make sense of what I saw. Perhaps being able to will frighten me even more. But I cannot, _will not, _sit by, defenseless as an infant, as an unknown enemy stands. The knowledge that I have no knowledge is just as terrifying as the demon itself, maybe more so. Its eyes haunt my most beautiful dreams. I hear its voice when I am alone. Maybe knowing what it is will render me absolutely petrified. But, as it stands, I will do whatever I have to in order to make that stop. So, yes, I am determined." Eragon relaxed back into his chair.

Kaealla lowered her head for a moment and then uttered, "So be it." She looked back at Calibor and said, "Forgive me for this, dear one." Calibor's eyes narrowed and unfolded his arms. Kaealla looked back at Eragon. "Long, long, long ago I was born to the mother of the earth. I lived through several lifetimes, falling asleep and then waking up to find that eons had passed. It is a strange existence that we Grey Folk have. Our bodies are made indestructible from the ware of time. We can endure forever if we are so inclined and our youth will never leave us. That is why the Elves are the way they are now. The magic that bound them to the dragons seeped from Echothain and Kayalder and over the course of the riders gave them the power that they have today. The only difference is, the Grey Folk are born of it. We are born like Gods, with the power to give and take life."

Eragon lifted a hand. "What on earth do you mean? I can take a life. Any one of my soldiers can, and do. Do you think yourself so unique that you alone have that talent?"

Calibor raised a hand, forestalling Kaealla. "Allow me to answer that, King." Calibor knelt down and picked some of the dirt at the ground. He stood back up and held out his palm, showing it to Eragon. Then he closed his hand around it, blew into it, and whispered, "I grant you life. Rise up and live." He opened his palm and looked into, then held it out to Eragon. Rathon stiffened. On his palm was a small crab, walking side to side and clicking its claws. "Touch its mind," Calibor said. "You will find a sentient being. This is no trick of magic. Grey Folk are born with the power to take of our own life and give it to something completely lifeless and to take it away from those things we gave it. It is ours; we can give it or take it away. And I might add, once a Grey Folk gives life, it takes from him, and it cannot be regained unless the life is taken back; and that which once held life is returned to its previous existence. That is, none whatsoever." Calibor paused for a moment, then closed his fist and then opened it back, dropping it to his side. Just as he did, Rathon caught a glimpse of specs of dirt fall to the ground.

Eragon looked at Kaealla with a humored expression. "You mean to tell me that you support all human life with your own? I find that hard to believe."

"If you plant a tree," she replied, her voice growing deep. "You labor to plant the first seed. You dig a hole deep enough that it can have roots. You water it every day so that it has nourishment. You dig out any weeds so that it will not be chocked to death. And over the course of time a tree rises and bares you fruit. But after that point, seeds from those fruit spread and create more trees. And then those trees make fruit and those fruit makes even more trees." Kaealla snapped a hand up, two fingers extended and in that motion Rathon heard lightning. "One time I labored. I made two products. From there, a billion lives were made. So, no, I could not simply take away your life, for I did not directly grant it to you. But make no mistake; it was I and I alone that gave breath to Humanity. Humanity is my creation that I made with the aid of no one." Her voice had grown harsh, like a scorned person robbed of their accomplishment.

Katelyn spoke then. "Please, Kaealla, do not be upset. I believe, and perhaps I am wrong, that King Eragon meant not to trample on what you have done. Only, understand, this is much to grasp at one time."

Kaealla's eyes flicked to Katelyn and thunder echoed. "Did the people of Alagaesia believe they sprouted from the ground? What, if any, tales of me survived in your culture? I did not hide myself from the humans before they abandoned me! Where, then, do you think life came from? Where do you think the complexity of man was crafted? Can a flawless sword spontaneously decide to exist? No! It must be taken from something that is by no means a sword and crafted by a wise hand into the blade that it is. Ore is smelted into iron, iron is folded into steel, steel is shaped into blade, and blade is attached to metal. The process is long and complicated; and only a master can created a perfect blade. It takes a master two full days to complete it! Man is no different! Yet you seem to believe that the complexity of man was a miracle of chance! Do you know what goes into the creation of one of your children in your womb? Do not you comprehend why it takes nine months to make something the size of a melon? The process is infinitely complex and I built your bodies to know how to do it by itself; instinctively! Do you think that that is by chance that you were made that way? What is wrong with you? Did I not give you common sense?" Kaealla slammed a fist on the table and sparks jumped in every direction. Calibor put a hand on her shoulder and she suddenly calmed.

He leaned over and whispered, "You're going to lose control if you keep railing like that. If you do, I cannot take responsibility for stopping you." Kaealla took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Calibor stepped back.

"Please forgive me," Katelyn said, her voice small and frightened.

"No, no," Kaealla said. "I apologize for my outburst. It is not like me." She smoothed her dress and sighed. "I wish…" she paused for a long moment. Calibor put his hand back on her shoulder. "I wish that I could explain to you the anger it causes in me. To create something; to give of yourself to see life flourish in something you love. And then, that creation turns its back on you and chooses something of material and perishable value; and over the course of a very short period of time, to watch and see them forget that you even exist." Kaealla raised a hand. "Magic is perishable. With age it rots like flesh. It is fickle. It decides whom it will serve. The magic that you enjoy today is the harnessed version and yet it still defies you. Mankind chose the prospect of a foreign concept that they could never understand over me; their Mother. And in the span of just a millennium, forgot that I existed, replacing my name with fairy tales and superstitions."

Eragon sat quietly for a moment. "Would you have helped us?" he asked. "Would have come to our aid had we called out for you?"

A scornful glare entered Kaealla's eyes. "What mother would hear her child cry and ignore it? Had a single man, out of the hundreds of thousands, called out to my name for help, accepting me as his maker, I would have come like the ravaging sea, unstoppable, and obliterate anything that stood to harm him. But, as the forger of the sword, I will not serve as a guardian to a people that do not acknowledge me as their crafter. I will not accept your superstitions of spontaneous creation and still stand over you, guarding you from evil. It is an atrocity I will not abide by."

Silence reigned in the room for a long moment. Then the words of Brom echoed their minds. _Tensions have run high. I propose we continue this at a later time. _

"No," Kaealla said. "We will finish what we have started. Unless you agree with your child, I will proceed."

Eragon nodded. "I agree. Let us finish."

Kaealla took a deep breath. "All Grey Folk are born with the power to give and craft life. That is why you title us Gods. We are not. Gods are a level entirely of their own. We command the power to craft beings from ourselves; they command the power to create worlds, space and time. We are not Gods; we are bound with the chains of mortality. However, with the sacrifice of something of us, we can make something new. This stands true with me, Kayalder, my parents, his parents. And, though creation has suffered under this fact, so can my brother."

Calibor stiffened and placed a hand on the back of her chair. "Your…" An expression of realization ran over Calibor's face. He put his first three fingers of his right hand on his mouth and stepped back. He shook his head and said in a voice of astonishment, "Kaealla, how could you? We…we could have stopped…all of this. We could have stopped everything."

Kaealla, her eyes locked firmly on the table, continued. "I have hid this fact for far too long, Kayalder. I cannot stand its weight any longer." She looked up at Eragon and said, "Abadon Ze'Keria Kasteliia. That is the name of what you saw in the mind of Galbatorix. He is my younger brother. This is his tale. A short time after he was born, he left. He covered his tracks well; we never found him. He is the maker of the urgal, the dwarf and the shade. He fled to Alagaesia, establishing it as his domain. For millennium he stayed there. He made his creation, the dwarfs, split into factions so that there would still be wars for his entertainment. He left the urgals behind to ravage Alalea. But then, the elves left for the land across the sea and the humans followed. Abadon felt this, took it as a threat on what he had come to believe was his land that he was the sole owner of. So he made the urgals follow and prepared his plan. Grey Folk do not strike like man does; weak but fast. Abadon created a plan of malice; to steal away hope from the world of man and elf. He let them in the door of Alagaesia. He let them fight and destroy each other. He let them live. Then the riders were established, and the chaos ceased. So, he acted."

"He found a young rider, named Galbatorix. He imbedded a thought, an idea that has cursed the entire world forever. 'Go out on your dragon, for just a short flight in the wilderness with your friends.' Such a basic thought; innocent enough not to be noticed, but devastating once it came to fruition. He had a group of urgals waiting for Galbatorix once he landed, and he directed them to attack and kill his dragon and friends. The seeds of madness were then planted. As Galbatorix stumbled through the wilderness, trying to find his way back, Abadon made his move. He struck out at Galbatorix's mind, subduing it over the course of a few days, and broke it so it became his vessel. Abadon took human form. You know the rest of that story. Your enemy for all these years has been the enthralled host of my brother. When Aesire cast him into the void, Galbatorix's soul was lost. Any human would lose their sanity in that place. I dare say I would scarcely be able to keep my mind in order. When he made his return, he aimed at you, Eragon, for he perceived that it was because of you and Aesire that his reign had come to its end."

"Aesire was the one who banished him," Eragon pointed out.

"And as you will notice, Aesire does not stand here today. Abadon intended from the first day he was exiled to take Aesire as his next host. I guess he thought that LunarMist would still be inside Aesire when he took him. He did not count on Aesire giving it away."

Eragon ran a hand over the back of his other, his face contemplative. His eyes drifted up to Calibor. He was leaning against a wall, darkly glowering at Kaealla. "Calibor," he said. "You said that you could have stopped all of this, had you then known it was Kaealla's brother. Would you care to explain that?"

A bulge ran across Calibor's cheek as he pressed his tongue against it. Fire was in his eyes. "Do you recall when the Black Chamber laid siege to your island city?" Eragon nodded. "That day I went to Echothain and tried one last time to reason with him. I thought that he was the orchestrator of the attack, that my little brother was the most formidable threat we had to deal with. You have no siblings, King, so trust me when I say that it was not the most forbidding prospect I had ever encountered. Far towards the least, in fact. Had I known then that Kaealla's brother, whom she conveniently never told of to me, I could have stopped Abadon where he stood."

"Are you that confident in your strength that you could master him? He is powerful enough that your brother made himself a servant to him."

A look of disdain ran across Calibor's face and he pushed himself off the wall. "I am the first descendent of Del Narzvin, Father of the Stars. I exist, yet I do not. I have never been, but I will always be. The power of creation rests in my right hand, the power of life answers to my call. The answers to the mysteries of life and time have been told to me. I have the power to create and to destroy; the authority to command nations. Dragon's scales come from my blood; their fire was forged of my soul. What does Abadon have that I do not? His creation now bends their knee in service to my name. Name a skill of his; mine will be greater. Name a power that he possesses that I do not. I am not a prideful man of many things, King Eragon, but my heritage and the power it details is something that I will defend fiercely."

"If all this you can do, why didn't you stop Echothain?"

Calibor drew back and glanced at Rathon. "Fate. Destiny. The force of time would not allow it. Every single thing that has happened in the past two decades was pre-determined by an otherworldly force that I cannot disobey. This does not stand true with Abadon, however. He fled the council of my father and abused his powers by crafting a people meant solely for his entertainment. Such a crime is heinous in nature, defied by the very fabric of existence. It is a level of cruelty that whatever Gods exist will not tolerate. Abadon, therefore, could be stopped. I could stop him, for destiny had defied a place to him. Echothain is foolish, but fate still harbors him under its wing. And fate is a master, even considering all my power, I cannot defy. Even still, I am convinced that Abadon could have been stopped and with it everything that has happened up to this point." He cast a scornful look at Kaealla. "That is; if he had only been made known to us." Kaealla said nothing in response to him.

"So," Eragon said. "How do we stop him?" Calibor lifted an eyebrow. "You said he was aiming at me. He knows I'm still alive. He watched me sail away from Alagaesia. I would assume, based on what he said, that he had shifted his focus to Rathon, in effort of hurting me. That means that he will be coming for us, sooner or later."

"I had not considered that," Calibor said.

"So then, how do we stop him?"

"You can't; now, anyways. Before you casted him into the void, then maybe. But now…"

Kaealla interrupted him. "He holds himself here by the power of LunarMist. How you can untether that hold, I do not know."

"You are the maker of magic," Eragon said. "You must have some idea."

She shook her head. "The Great Spells have never obeyed me. Not since the day I made them. I cannot order LunarMist to let Abadon go any more than you could order the ocean to stop giving life to fish."

Brom stepped forward. _Could we? We who hold the Great Spells' allegiance?_

"Conceivably. Because of the deal that Kayalder, Echothain, and Eragon made, and so long as you do not order it otherwise or sacrifice its allegiance, your Spell will always answer to you. But there is another problem. Abadon did not pick Galbatorix at random. Galbatorix is descendent of one of the seventeen pure breed magicians that left me for Alagaesia. There is…well, was pure breed magic in him. Because of how long Abadon held Galbatorix in bonds, Abadon has magic. Evil, twisted, black magic. It is the closest thing to wild magic that still exists. Over time it overlapped on itself, so to speak, and created what you know now as FutureStar. Because he can defile time, which is a sovereign ruler that even the Grey Folk bow to, he can see into past and future and is free to affect it. Before, as Calibor mentioned, it was stoppable, because it was undeveloped. All he could do was see into the thoughts and minds of those around him. Now, however, FutureStar is much further along in creation. And it has seeped over into the flow of time, granting him accesses of knowledge of what the flow of time will bring."

"So," Eragon said, after a moment of pondering. "He could theoretically see his downfall coming?"

"Yes, though I doubt he would do anything. Abadon is insane with the power of all knowledge of the future and power to change it. Certain endings, however, cannot be changed. Prophecies come from such endings. Points in time that, regardless the steps you take to change it, will come to pass. Many times, these steps only hasten the end's arrival. It's possible that he could see the end coming and believe he could stop it. But, it may not be such an ending. I have no means to tell you."

"What then…" Brom gripped the base of his sword as the door to the room opened. A man staggered into the room, blood running down his arm. It was then that the sounds of a great battle came into the room. Dragons roared, fire crackled, swords clanged, men screamed. Rathon realized that the spell used to trap the sounds of the room inside had also blocked noises from the outside.

"King," the man said, his voice weak. "Barbarians. The Twelve. They are…attacking us."


	11. The Returning Shadow and the Rebounding

Brom gripped the hilt of his sword and surged out through the door, letting loose his robes which flew behind him. Calibor knelt down beside the man and began to speak with him in a quiet voice.

"King," Rathon said. "I go to fight." He took off to the door, but stopped when Kaealla put a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait," she said.

He glared at her. "Can you not hear the cries of dying men? I must go!"

"Then you shall first be armed so that you might aid them! I will not allow one who my creation calls Master to go out and face death unarmed! ShadowLight, a force that even the God's themselves fear has chosen to place a harness on its neck and bend its knee to you!" Her grip on Rathon's arm grew painful. "I will not allow you to die if I can help it."

"Then you'll give me back ShadowLight? You'll call it back from Galbatorix?"

"I cannot," she growled. "As I just attested, I hold no authority over it whatsoever. But you do. I have the power to call its attention; make it turn its ear to us. But it must be you who summons it. And it must be a summons to end all others. It has become confused under Galbatorix; you must call to it with all your strength."

Rathon turned to her, squaring his shoulders. "Then let us do it."

Kaealla stood and extended her arms outward, her eyes closed. Rathon felt a wave of power surge forward and Kaealla struck the ground with the end of her staff. The resonation shook the bones of the earth. Kaealla opened her eyes, which now glowed an iridescent blue. "ShadowLight!" she called and her voice echoed like the roar of a dragon. "Turn your ear to me. Hearken to the call of your creator. Listen and hear the words of your Master; abide his will as you have sworn you would do!"

Rathon lifted his face to the ceiling and shouted with his mind, voice and soul, "SHADOWLIGHT! I am your Master, Rathon Zodionson! Heed my call and come to serve at my hand! Return to me!"

The sky outside grew dark with clouds and thunder began to roll. Lightning bolts struck the ground and people shouted in fear. Kaealla snapped her hand forward and pulled Rathon's hand up, so his fingers were extended out to a window. A bolt of lightning struck through the window and collided with Rathon's hand. Rathon jerked back; it was hot as fire and yet cold as ice. A sound like a thousand birds chirping filled the air and Rathon looked down at his hand. The swirling black and white circlet of metal was twisted around his middle finger. He tightened his hand into a fist as the power of the Great Spell flowed through him once more.

_Greetings, Master, _came the old voice of his loyalist servant. It has been l_ong since I adorned your hand._

Rathon uttered a shuddering breath as he felt the coursing power of ShadowLight run through him. _Welcome back. _

_If I may, Master. I feel very confused, however, I also feel that there is work to be done. _

_Indeed there is, my old friend. _

"Go now," Kaealla said. "Show those worms what one who commands the loyalty of Magic itself can do."

* * *

Elithia ducked as the blade of a Barbarian swung overhead. She pointed her arm at the man, closed her eye, and sent a burst of her power out at him. When she opened her eye again, the man was not there. She touched the cloth that was strapped around her right eye and softly said, "Thank you, Rathon." She turned around and took a powerful stance, throwing her arms overhead and sending her energy out of her chest, causing one of the black creatures before her to crash into the walls, dead.

She heard a great clash of thunder and looked up to the skies as it darkened with clouds. She covered her eye as a flash of lightning erupted in the clouds and struck down at the Great Hall. "What was that!" she said.

In her distraction a Barbarian grabbed her from behind and threw her over his shoulder. She landed on her head, bright lights flashing behind the back drop of her eyelids. She staggered up just as the Barbarian struck her in the face with his iron clad fist. She opened her eye as she fell to the ground and watched as the strap of cloth she had come to rely on fell from her face. She lay on the ground, stunned, until the Barbarian picked her up by the front of her tunic. She looked into his dark eyes and his sinister smile, hating him with all her might and willing that he would simply die. She heard the metallic sliding of a knife against its sheath.

"Time to turn off the lights, little girl," he said in a mocking voice.

Elithia opened her bad eye. The world around her shimmered as though she were underwater. A sense of overwhelming vertigo hit her as she felt like she was being thrown again. She looked around her. Standing six feet away from her was the Barbarian, in his grip she saw herself. She watched as he took the handle of a knife at his belt and slid the weapon out. She saw his mouth move in the words she had just heard. Then, from the distance, she heard a _twang. _An arrow flew in from the side and cut through the Barbarian's throat, causing an eruption of blood. Then she watched as the arrow continued on its path and embedded itself in her own forehead. The Barbarian collapsed as blood spewed from his neck and she fell with him.

Elithia took a step back. _Am I dead? _She put a hand on forehead, expecting to feel blood, but felt nothing. _What's going on? _She thought. The vertigo gripped her again as she was ripped forward. She opened her eyes from the rush as she felt a hand on her tunic, holding her above the ground. She saw the Barbarian again, heard his words. She looked behind his ear and saw an archer taking aim and his dart leaving the end of his bow. Elithia summoned all of her strength and summoned a burst into the Barbarian's hand, destroying it and causing her to fall. An instant later the arrow sunk into the Barbarian's neck and he fell, dead.

Elithia picked herself up and looked at the man's body. She touched her cheek under her bad eye. _What…what in the world am I?_

* * *

Rathon jumped to the side of the Barbarian's sword effortlessly. _Break his right kneecap, _he thought. ShadowLight struck outward, cracking the man's knee. The man twisted in pain and fell down onto his knees. Rathon stepped forward and placed his middle finger underneath the man's jaw. "Farewell to you," he said, as he sent a concentrated line of energy through the Barbarian's jaw, mouth and into his brain. The body collapsed.

Rathon tightened his fist as he looked down at the white and black ring on his finger. "I can do anything with this."

He felt the stir of the wind and turned to see Leonis plummet out of the air and send a wave of fire upon a Garthin as it jumped at Rathon. _Thank you, friend. _He said as he watched his dragon fly overhead.

_You have regained ShadowLight? _

_Aye, _he said, raising his fist to the air. _I can do anything now. I am unstoppable!_

Leonis raised his head and roared to the skies.

Rathon later concluded that what happened next was a plow from a jealous God that wished to prove his last thought wrong; for he could not think of a crueler thing that could have happened in that moment.

He watched as his dragon flew overhead and then, in growing horror, watched as a spear thrown by one of the Garthin riders arched up to Leonis, went into his mouth and the tip of the spear protruded out of the top of Leonis' head. His dragon uttered a single pained shriek and then dipped down from the skies and fell into the woods outside the city.

* * *

**Hey, what's up Tesst? Haven't seen you in a few months. **

**Yeah, okay, so I took a long time getting back. I decided to take a break to study for a test….and then that turned into a week break….and then time got away from me. But, now the semester is almost over and I've gotten done studying for my exams and so I'll be free to wrap up this story now. **

**Looking back after this hiatus I now feel bad for not giving Leonis more screen time, but what are you going to do. **

_**Warning, to the rare and the few.**_

**In light of recent events, a long night out with some friends and a personal choice, I have decided that at the conclusion of this story, ShadowLight, I will be concluding with it my time on FanFiction. I am ready to leave this site behind. This is the warning part of this message. **

**Along with that departure, I will be deleting the five books from my previous story. They are terrible in my opinion, not even worth the space on my computer. I want them erased from the face of the planet, flush them down the clog of my memory and forget that they ever existed. However, I decided that I would be remotely courteous to those who may have liked it. I don't understand why you do, but that is not my concern. **

**BloodFire, LunarMist and ShadowLight will remain, because I actually like them. But all the other five will be deleted. I give my permission to download or copy those five stories to any media output to anyone who wants to. As soon as I upload the last chapter of this book (I don't know when that will be) those five will be gone. If you want to read them past that point it is on you to save them in some way. It fails my comprehension why you would want to, but, you have been fairly warned.**


	12. To Redemption

**Funnelwebs: :) Yeah I am; for a brief period, but even still. :) I do appreciate the sentiment that you will miss me; however, I have a life ahead of me and its calling. **

**Elemental Dragon Slayer: :) Yes he is. Still like your name; no matter how many times I see it, it never gets old. **

**Burning book: Thank you. **

Rathon crashed through the forest, jumping over logs and roots and ducking under low hanging branches. The whole time his mind raced, panic overwhelming him. _No, no, no, please no! _He broke through the trees and into a small clearing created by Leonis' body falling through the woods. His dragon lay on his side against a mound of dirt he had erected. Rathon ran to his side and slide down beside his partner's head. Leonis' right eye fluttered open.

_Rathon…_ came the slow word from his dragon's mind.

_Be still,_ he said. With a trembling hand he touched the tip of the spear that protruded out the top of Leonis' head.

_No hand: magician, manaian or God could heal this wound, young one. _

Rathon lowered his head and sat for a moment, writhing in his mind at the absolute unfairness of the world. He punched the ground as tears began to fall from his eyes. "What am I supposed to do!" he said through gritted teeth.

_My life is full and complete, _Leonis said. _Do not mourn after my departing. Allow me to go and be with my fellows in the Great Beyond, where Dragons may fly through the clouds for all time. _The red eye drifted down until it touched upon Rathon. _I was made to watch as you became the harshest and most evil version of yourself that you could be. Do not mourn me; but go and take revenge upon the one who made me suffer through that. Galbatorix. Make him pay for what he did to you; filling you with such hatred and sorrow. _

Rathon opened his eyes and looked down at his fallen companion. He lifted his right hand and looked down at the gedway ignasia that rested upon it. "I am not worthy of this," he said.

_I choose you, _Leonis said. _I handpicked you from the crowd; freely and with countless other options. And it was not a choice I made in error. You are my Rider, now and forevermore. _

Rathon placed his hand on Leonis' forehead. _"I swear to you then," _he said, with mind and voice. _"I shall make it my life to see Galbatorix fall; along with everything he has ever touched." _

Rathon felt the last dreg of strength slip out of Leonis' body. The dragon's eyelid slid shut and with a finally sigh from his mighty lungs, he said, _Farewell Rathon; my Rider and ShadowLight. _

Four days had passed since the attack. The force Naydel had sent to attack the group of Barbarians had returned. Kaealla had gone back to her people to guard them.

Rathon sat in the throne room of Eragon and Arya, whom sat on their thrones. Beside, arranged in a semi-circle, was Brom, Nayter, Katelyn, Elithia, Naydel, Calibor, two other generals who Rathon did not know and Zodion. Eragon sat in his throne, listening intently to one of the generals speak.

Rathon only began to pay attention when Eragon asked, "How far?"

Naydel raised her hand briefly. "The scouts of the Fourteenth Division went as far as Thafalrian Lake and there was no sign of them. They have been routed much further than ever before."

"Could that mean that they have ended their blood feud with us?" Arya asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Naydel replied. "It was a demoralizing victory that we had over them. I mean, we killed most every Garthin before they had a chance to escape the city. We've the outer walls to thank for that. My guess is, they've merely retreated in order to resupply themselves with mounts."

"And then there is the matter of you," Eragon said, looking down at Elithia.

Elithia sat with her arms pressed into her legs and her eyes fixed firmly on the ground at her feet. "Father, mother," she said. "I don't know what I did. I don't know how I did it. All I know is, is that I was able to see a strand of reality that I then averted."

Nayter spoke. "I will be speaking for Brom now. He would use his ordinary method of communications, but with so many that he needs to speak to, this would be faster." She nodded to Brom. "My daughter, I believe I may understand what has caused this. Before you were born I was the Master of a Great Spell named LunarMist. And in the same way your mother was the daughter of its previous master. That man, your grandfather Aesire, enjoyed in his right eye a unique ocular power that enabled him to control others. I believe that that is all that this is: the weaker manifestation of LunarMist in your right eye. That is what gives you the power to see into the future and change it before it occurs."

Zodion shook his head. "I find two flaws in that hypothesis. LunarMist is not the Spell of Time; ShadowLight is. So how could it see through the fabric of it? Only ShadowLight can see past time."

"ShadowLight is able to see from the beginning to the end of time as clearly as though through glass; this is true. LunarMist is not the Spell of Time; you are right. But in the Book of LunarMist it says that it is the Spell of Sight and that all things shall be shown to the eyes of its wielder," Nayter replied. "What is your other quam with my theory?"

Zodion tapped his first finger against his leg. "If your 'theory' is true and Aesire enjoyed this power and here Elithia does as well; why not you, Brom? You are the chosen master of LunarMist; the one it picked like a dragon does its rider. Why don't you have some ocular power?"

"Perhaps, I do not have one for that very reason," Nayter said. "I don't know why, but if you see a more likely scenario to explain this, then I welcome it."

"Enough," Katelyn said. "What matters the origin of this power that has awakened in Elithia? What matters is that it has." She leaned forward and rested her arms on her knees, looking past Nayter and Brom at Elithia. "Do you know how to control it?"

Elithia took a deep breath and said, "I believe if I concentrate than I could do it. I don't know why I think that. But…some part of me tells me…that I could do it."

Brom tapped Nayter's arm. "As one who speaks from experience," she said. "That is LunarMist's power speaking to you, telling you of your abilities. You have never before that battle faced a deadly situation; and so I am confident that is what awoke the dormant LunarMist within you."

Eragon nodded silently at their words. "The soldiers around you said that your eye glowed a bright light and then you attacked the Barbarian to get out of his grasp. Brom," he said. "Can you explain this power; what it enables her to do? I know it is LunarMist that gives her the power, but what is she doing exactly?"

"From what I've heard," Nayter said. "And from a number of deduced factors, my educated opinion is that when she uses this power, she steps outside the flow of time, observes the future and then steps back in from where she left. Thusly, she is able to act with extreme foresight."

"Wouldn't the flow of time stop that? I thought that ShadowLight would not allow for any but its master to change what is to be. In fact, I witnessed ShadowLight steal every ounce of Aesire's strength as he tried to defy that law."

"I thought the same," Nayter replied. "Apparently we were wrong, or she is an exception."

"Well then," Eragon said. "Elithia; what would the future have been had you not acted as you did?"

"The arrow that killed the Barbarian would have buried itself into my chest. I would have been dead long before anyone could have helped me."

"How far in advance can you foresee?" Arya asked.

"Moments," Elithia replied. "No more than seven seconds if the first time I used it is anything to go off of."

Arya looked to Eragon. "Useful," she said. "But nothing near what Elva could do."

"No," Eragon said. "She is more valuable than Elva ever could have been. For one thing, her foresight is not limited to pain. Elva was useful, yes; but I think it would be a fair leap towards a fantasy to say she was loyal to us. She had bitterness and resentment towards us; both understandable, but the fact remains."

"Your Majesties," Rathon said, as he looked up to them. "I wish to speak."

Eragon lifted an eyebrow, but nodded and said, "Then do so."

Rathon tightened his fist and said, "This place, this realm is a wonder to behold. I am blessed beyond my merit to have seen it. However, it is a travesty unspeakable that those of Alagaesia still wallow under the Black Tyrant."

Eragon eyes darkened. "Do you think yourself so wise that you think we have not suffered under that knowledge? I am aware, painfully so, that many of Alagaesia that did not cast their allegiances with Galbatorix were unable to flee with us and that they even now are likely subjects to his cruelty!"

"Then allow me to go back, and save them."

Eragon's anger seemed to cool then as the surprise of what Rathon said settled in. He relaxed in his throne and splayed his fingers together. "You have my attention."

Rathon raised his right hand, the ring of ShadowLight entwined on his middle finger. "It took this, the death of my dragon and the upheaval of everything that I have ever called truth to make me realize it." His eyes went back to the King. "The power of this spell tells me that I can defeat Galbatorix. I can do it; but not if I have a thousand men hacking me to pieces. I require aid if I am to finish him, once and for all."

"How," Eragon said, waving his hands. "We know what he is now. He is of the Grey Folk! How can you possible master him?"

"You underestimate the Spells, King," Calibor said. He had sat quietly in his chair, his right leg crossed over his left.

"You do," Zodion said. "Brom, Rathon and Katelyn were all chosen by the Spells. Unlike Calibor and his cohort who took them and used them as any other spell, the three of them were accepted by the Spells in a way identical to you and your dragon. However, Rathon and ShadowLight were unique among the three. As I said the day they were crowned, ShadowLight was different to the others. It did not only choose Rathon, it was forcing its way out of me and towards him; calling to him. I shudder to think what it is capable of."

Eragon rubbed the side of his head as he looked up to the ceiling. "Could such a venture end in success," he said softly, to no one. "Calibor, you were the one to tell us to flee. With how swiftly Galbatorix dealt with the Dwarfs, I dare say we here in this room and in this city owe our lives to you. What do you think?"

"Grey Folk," Calibor said. "Are mortals. We can die, just as any of you can. We are just as close to Gods as you can be without the authority to command worlds to exist. But as I said, Abadon's power rests beneath me. I am stronger than him in every way. If not for LunarMist, I could defeat him. But, because he is holding onto LunarMist, the Spell which he even now holds, he will be unstoppable by my hand."

Eragon shrugged his shoulders. "You are the strongest here in comparison to him. If you would not stand against him, then why hasn't he come for us?"

"Because of Kaealla, the maker of LunarMist. She is powerless to command it, but he does not know that. He fears her, because he fears that she may be able to order LunarMist to detach him from itself."

Eragon rested his head against his hand. "Do not think that I have accepted this idea, Rathon. I am merely entertaining the notion. How many men would you need for this?"

"If I may interject," Zodion said. "Rathon has no knowledge of our measurement of man to unit and so he is ill fit to reply to that question. Such a task would require somewhere between a dozen and twenty five legions, Sire."

"You require a fourth our armies?" Eragon said, his voice outlandish.

"King," Katelyn said.

"What?"

"Do you recall what Kaealla said to you a few days ago, when you told her that you would join her if she decided to eradicate the Barbarians?" Without waiting for a reply, she continued. "She said that if it was a gambit she made, it would be one made with the lives dedicated to her cause and not ones that were sworn to her by a foreign commander. I propose that we follow in her wise footsteps. It will be the warrior's lives at stack should this venture be undertaken, so I propose we let them decide."

Eragon examined the three of them for a long while. Then he said, "Arya, what think you?"

"Katelyn's suggestion is a good one, I believe. It is their lives at risk; let them choose whether to accept it or not."

"Very well then," Eragon said, leaning forward on his elbows. "Zodion, gather the people up in the main square. Gather everyone, not just the soldiers. I want all influences upon this decision to be present, whether they are positive or negative." Zodion stood and nodded, turned and left the hall. "As for the rest of you, where do you stand on the issue?"

Calibor said, "So said I once, so shall I say until the day Death calls my name and I must answer. I shall stand by Rathon's side; I will always cast my lot with him."

"With all respect to you, Grey Folk," he said, dipping his head to Calibor. "You may count me and my thirty five legions out of this insanity, Sire."

"It is fairly your decision to reject yourself from this proposal," Eragon said. "However, I have spoken. If your men wish to see this regaining through, it is their choice to make, not yours as their commanding officer. Same goes for you, as well as you Naydel," he said, looking at the second general and then to Naydel. "You have leave to attempt to sway them, but you do not have permission to order them to undertake this. Spin your words of fiery passion of an attack or laden their minds with fear of the unknown; I care not. But are not allowed to issue a command. Now, Brom, Nayter, Katelyn. Where do you stand?"

Brom cast a short glance to Nayter, and then Rathon heard his voice in his mind. _My wife and my daughter are my charge to protect. These past few days it has come to light that a force exists that would see us all dead, and it stands outside the bounds of age and death. It stands to reason then, that eventually this Abadon will come for us. Therefore, in order to secure a safer future for all my descendants, I will throw my hand in with Rathon. _

Katelyn nodded. "I as well, Sire. My blood burns for revenge against Galbatorix and what he has done. If you are agreed and grant us the means, I will go with him."

Nayter did not look up from the ground. "My father rests in the control of an insane God. A God we may yet topple. I will go; and I will fight to free him."

Rathon stood beside between Brom and Katelyn as the massed horde of people jumbled before them. He saw many injured people, some being carried by others in order to watch this event.

"Any tactics?" Rathon asked Katelyn.

"My plan is to insight their sense of justice against the wrongs that fall on Galbatorix's and Abadon's shoulders. I recommend you use a different one."

_Don't overdo it, _Brom said. _If you anger them against their foes so much, they will be blinded by that anger and go to join the grave far before their time. We want them on our side, but sensibly. Katelyn, will you act as my tongue? _

"Yes," she said, stepping forward. She raised her hand and the crowd silenced. "Harsh truths have come to light in these past days," she said. "The man, if such he could be called, that shrouded us in the darkest plane of existence yet recorded by the hand of Man, sits upon the throne of Alagaesia. But he is just the flesh; the empty casing to an evil that far surpasses any threat we have yet to encounter. That which dwells within him, seen by the eyes of our King has been revealed to us by the wise Kaealla. It is the Dark Grey Folk, Abadon Kasteliia."

"Isn't that Kaealla's last name!" someone shouted from the crowd. "Are they siblings? Yet we trust her?"

"They are brother and sister," Katelyn said. "But that is a broad association and one that she has not acknowledged since he left here; which was an event that preceded the Elves arriving in Alagaesia. It has been shown to us that he is the cause of many things; not least of which is everything that we attribute to Galbatorix. Now, even as Abadon sits cloaked in the flesh of another, we mean to strike at him."

"And how do you plan on doing that!" a woman called out.

Rathon spoke. "I once bent my knee to this abomination. I have tasted and I have seen his power; I know how to undo it."

"Do not listen to these fools!" the general Tetzar said. He stood beside Katelyn, his fist so tight that his knuckles were white. "They would see you ruined!" He took a step forward and jabbed a finger at Rathon. "This traitor just said it. He bent his knee to the enemy; he is as worthy of trust as a snake! Recall that it was he who gave this Abadon flesh once more; that it was he who stole the lives of your children and your family to do so! And now he asks for your hand in battle, to go and fight a vastly superior enemy in vain so that he can settle an old score! He asks you to sacrifice the safety of the home that you have built with your own hands and to go to die; like sheep to the slaughter! Stand your ground where you are and refuse the calling of this insane scheme!"

"No!" Naydel cried. "Do not listen to him! He plants seeds of worry and doubt in your minds. No competent leader should require such poultry methods to sway people." Her eyes swept those assembled. "Nine thousand four hundred and twenty," she said. "That is how many of you I have fought side by side with. It is drastically lowered than I wished for, but leagues higher than anything I could have hoped for. I count every one of you as my family." She placed her hand on her chest. "I have seen the wisdom of what Kaealla has told us; the nature of our enemy and the way to his undoing! Go with us and you will not walk blindly into the enemy's snare; I will not allow it!" Many of the warriors who boasted hefty scars raised their arms and cheered for her. Rathon began to feel better about their prospects. _This can be done, _he thought.

Calibor raised his arm. "I am Kayalder, Calibor, Lord of Dragons, and Harnesser of Shadow and Conqueror of Light! The power of the Heavens the might of the Earth rest in my hands. My strength is mighty and my power is a force to be reckoned with. Count my words among the truth; Abadon will fall! There is not a power that he possesses that I do not have greater. Your lives are in hands that are strong, able and prepared to defend them!" At his words almost every dwarf in the crowd cheered. Rathon tightened his fist, giddy with joy at the sound of how many supported them. _This can be done, _he thought.

Brom raised his fist to the crowd and projected his thoughts in great burst outward, that all would hear his words. _The True Wielders of the three Great Spells right forth on this venture. Victory shall be ours! Who will go with us? _The humans, dwarfs and many of the elves raised their voices in a clamoring battle cry.

"Go then!" came a booming voice from above. The entire crowd quieted and looked to the palace, where Eragon stood looking down at them. "Go forth this very hour and see to Galbatorix and Abadon's demise. I grant you ships to travel, swords to swing, armor to wear and food to eat. Take as much as you need. Go forth and retrieve that the land that is ours!"


End file.
